


The Christmas Reunion

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Romance, reference to past minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:59:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With life setting them on different paths, Merlin invites his dearest friends over for a last hurrah, a special Christmas reunion. They're all going to stay together under the same roof, exchange gifts and shore up memories for the future. Some things go to plan; some develop in unforseen ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Reunion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassie_black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/gifts).



> Dear Cassie_black, first and foremost let me wish you the happiest and best of holidays. I hope the season is full of marvellous wonders for you. As for your gift, I played around with these prompts of yours: _Pining or Oblivious boys. I like it when the girls/their friends know how they feel long before they do_. Since you're a fan of Christmas I threw in a bit of seasonal atmosphere. I hope this works for you! (ii) A thousand thank yous to my lovely betas d, c, and t for the read-through and their kind advice. You're champs and made this much better than I could single-handedly have. Also thanks to b for the helpful prompt discussion.

The constant dripping sound brings him to. He lies there with his eyes closed, but aware of the cadenced noise. Still, sleep fogs his brain, his body feels heavy and appropriately warm, and he's experiencing no urge to wake up. He flips and buries his head in the pillow, plastering his face against the case. He tries to concentrate on soothing thoughts, but the noise persists in thwarting all his attempts at dozing. With a loud sigh, he throws off his blankets, splays his bare feet on the floor, stretches and, with a yawn, goes to investigate.

His gaze shifts around the room. After a quick study of it, Merlin recognises the source of the noise.

Between the cupboard and the desk, the ceiling slopes into a cosy nook. A damp stain stretches from one side of it to the other. At the centre, where the stain is at its darkest and showing a constellation of greenish mould, a leak has sprung. Water is dripping in a puddle on the floor. 

Merlin rakes his hand through his hair, makes it stand up on end. “Crap,” he says, before padding into the hallway. He opens the utility cupboard and bends down to retrieve a tin pail. It's hollowed and battered at the sides, but it will do.

He places it under the leaky spot, and instead of on the floor the water slowly drips into the pail.

Seeing as he's wide awake by now, he makes a beeline for the bathroom. His skin pimples the moment he sets foot in it. However, as that is par for the course, he doesn't even try and fix the windows shut. He knows why he's freezing his balls off anyway. It's the old draught back in place. The silicon layer he framed the window with must have come off. So now the tiles feel like they have developed a stratum of ice and sub-zero temperatures have developed, rendering the room a fit habitat for polar bears. The last time he checked Merlin wasn't one. Unless he calls in a repairman, the situation won't change either. 

It doesn't matter anyway. All he needs to do is a shower and once he's enveloped into a cloud of steam, the temperature of the room won't matter much.

With a quick shimmy, he doffs his long-sleeved tee and boxers and steps into the shower cabin. With a creak of metal, he turns the tap full blast. And yelps when a wall of cold water slaps his chest. It freezes his lungs, driving all the breath out of it in one painful exhale. And nearly stops his heart. Yanking the shower stall open, he staggers backwards, shrieking, “Bloody buggering fuck!”

It's only after he's buried himself under a shield wall of towels and his body temperature has climbed back to something closer to human and less akin to that of Otzi the Iceman that he tries washing again. He goes to the kitchen, wamrs water, then dunks two kettlefuls of it into the basin.

Draped by a pair of joggers and a flannel jumper, he ventures into the boiler room. He turns the light on but it's so feeble down here that he also shines his torch on the old contraption. The light reveals patches of rust eating away at the tubes running into the boiler. The red is off. 

“Fuck,” Merlin says, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. “I should've known.”

Instead of repairing the cranky boiler, there being so much Merlin can take in the course of one morning, he makes himself breakfast. He places a cereal bowl and steaming mug on his desk in the office and turns on his computer. As it boots up, he munches on. Spoon into his mouth, he opens his e-mail client. He expressly avoids reading the message coming from his father. He knows it by heart by now and there'd be no point. He opens Morgana's though:

 

From: morgs@gmail.com  
To: m.emrys@mail.com  
Re: NY

_Aw, darling, I knew you were going to miss me. Anyway that's not going to happen for a while yet. It's as far away as the end of January. I do promise to send you a lot of pictures. (Arthur will get a cartload of those too.)_

_Btw, I wanted to ask you if you're going to Gwen and Leon's wedding? I think a double defection would be too much. They both love you dearly. Plus, if you go I'll find you a hot date. I don't know that many models for nothing._

_Let me know what you decide._  
Smooches,  
M 

 

Merlin minimises the window, takes a sip of his tea, hums a little, then goes back to his mail. He opens Gwen's next.

 

From: gwenwhyfar@ymail.com  
To: m.emrys@mail.com  
Subject: Wedding

 

_I have sent all the invitations out. I signed them by hand with the result that it now hurts. I hadn't thought that was possible, but there it is. What can I say? I now understand the plight of mediaeval scribes?_

_I suppose though that a little suffering is nothing compared to the joy of having my loved ones near. At least I'm positive I'll feel all warm inside once the cramps have subsided._

_You should find your invite in the mail. Tell me if you haven't received it yet. I'll send another copy._

_Waiting for your answer,_

_Gwen._

 

Merlin's hovering with his mouse on the answer button when his screen goes black. When he looks up, he notices that the power has gone. Another fuse must have blown. He'll have to check the mains again. But before he does that he picks up his mobile. He stares at the number for several seconds, for so long that the screen goes dark. He swipes his thumb across the screen once more and after a few more seconds dawdling he presses dial. 

“Llewellyn and Baines Estate Agents,” a musical voice answers. “How can I help you?”

 

****

 

The avenue is lined with ancient shade trees. In the pale morning sun, the colour of their bark coalesces into a solid grey that seemingly smooths out the ruts and striations that run alongside it. Their branches are bare and stacked with snow. Rings of frost surround the roots.

As he slogs down the path, Merlin's shoes sink into the icy sludge and he has to watch out so as not to slip. He knows this patch of road, though. He remembers where the potholes are and where the asphalt has grown thin, more likely all iced over. He knows all the twists and turns by heart. He knows the spot where it bends the most, a threat when indulging in nocturnal cycling. He can picture the area coasting the blanket bog with his eyes closed. And he can picture the turn that leads up to big gates of the Pendragon estate with great clarity. Merlin isn't going to get lost here. Ever. 

He was bloody born here. He has the place in his blood and in his nostrils, written in his memory in bright colours he doesn't think will ever fade.

Not even if...

As he sighs, his breath mists up. He can't pretend it's not because of the cold. The air is after all sharp and cuts at his cheeks and his bare hands. He stuffs them into his pockets and lowers his chin so that he can bury it in his turned up collar.

On his way over, he meets only old Alice. She too is wearing quite a lot of layers. She's in fact hidden under a pile of scarves and a woolly knit hat that has sunk low onto her brow. She's bearing two shopper bags plus a third one marked with the logo of the local toyshop.

“Starting on the grandkids' wish list?” Merlin calls out.

“Yes,” Alice shouts back. “Christmas is near. Wouldn't want to disappoint them!”

“I'm sure they're getting everything they ever wanted.”

“They're not that spoilt,” Alice says with a rich chuckle. “But they're getting their fair share.” She hoists her bags higher up on her forearm to show him. Then she looks back at the path she came from. “Are you going up to the old house?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, looking down at his shoes, the sludge shored up against them. “Yeah.”

“Well,” says Alice, “that's always good, memory lane.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, realising he's inadvertently put on a hand on his heart, which he immediately drops. “Yeah.”

“Well, have a good day.”

The rest of the walk doesn't take him long. Merlin doesn't trudge up to the main gate. It would be closed anyway. He slogs along the back lane rather, the one skirted by the wisteria-clad brick wall. The sun, now a bit further up, shines palely over its rim, its rays spearing in between a drapery of heavy clouds. Hand on the lock, Merlin pushes the wicket gate open, climbs the path leading to the house. The grass has grown over the tiled walkway and sturdy tufts of it cover the muddied lozenges of marble.

When he's halfway up the knoll, he can see the house. The curtains are drawn. Over the chimney sits a nest. 

Merlin makes his way a little further up, and sits on the swing. The chains that hold the seat creak, but the thing doesn't fold, so Merlin rests more fully on the planchette. Feet out, he starts swinging, looking at the house, letting the memories wash over him.

 

**** 

2002

 

In a screech of bells, the bicycle stops an inch away from Merlin. Arthur grins at him. “You know, you shouldn't walk and listen to music.”

Merlin lowers his headphones, kiling off 'Yellow'. “You wanker, how was I supposed to know my manic friend would try and run me over!” 

“And how are you supposed to know if a hit and run driver is about to plough you into oblivion?”

“That's different!” Merlin splutters, rooting into his sports bag to shut down his CD player. “That's completely different.”

Arthur arches an eyebrow. “I don't see how. You should just pay more attention to where you're going.”

Merlin's about to retort, but Lancelot and Elyan spill out of the sports building and catch up with him. “See you Thursday,” greets Lance. “Great final lap, Merlin”, says Elyan, clapping Merlin on the back before rejoining Lancelot further down the lane.

When their friends have disappeared, Arthur says, “So fancy going to the lake?”

“Right now?” Merlin asks; his hair is still wet and the air is chill enough he mostly only fancies a quick walk home.

Arthur turns his face a little to the right so he's not meeting Merlin's eyes, squints against the non-existent sun. “No, of course not.” He changes foot on the pedal, rights his bike. “I was just throwing the option out there.”

Merlin places his fingers around the handlebar of the bike. “Arthur, I do want to come.”

“I'll have you know,” Arthur says, raising his chin, “that I have a lot of homework to do.”

“I'd love to go to the lake,” Merlin says, screw the chill. “Honest.”

A smile flickers around Arthur's lips though he's biting one corner, fighting it. “Well, if you really want to go.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I do want to go.”

“In that case--” Arthur dismounts, turns the bike around, and nudges it back onto the main road. “Let's go.”

Pushing the bike between them, they walk more or less at the same pace. They don't talk much on the way over but their silence doesn't feel strained. At least Merlin doesn't think so. Arthur generally pouts when he's in a snit and he isn't now. Relieved they're not at odds, Merlin hums lightly to the notes of the song he'd been listening to before Arthur interrupted.

Arthur shepherds the bike over the worst potholes. Before long they leave the town behind and cross rolling hills and steep vales clothed in moss. Heather, headed cotton grass and asphodels colour the landscape with wide swathes of crimson and white. 

At last they clear the bogs and reach higher ground, the shores of a mountain lake coming into view.

Once they're there, Arthur puts the bike down. They walk the paths that go round the lake, lace their shoes up and toss them over their shoulders so they're padding barefoot along the shore. 

The water is freezing. When it touches their toes, they yelp. And yet, trousers rolled up, they keep charging at it. When they can't feel their feet anymore, they slip their socks back on and stomp around. 

When they're warm enough again, they have an impromptu skimming stones competition. Merlin wins and proclaims he's definitely got the magic touch. Arthur comments with much eye rolling and demands a rematch. When Merlin refuses, Arthur says Merlin's a bad sport, a terrible one. Merlin says nope and starts sniggering like an idiot. It's ridiculous really, but there you have it. Arthur makes him do tosser things.

Arthur starts chortling too and for a bit they're egging one another on, looking at each other with a dare in their eyes and bursting out laughing, but then they give up on that and sprawl on the grass. They ought to have brought a blanket. The grass is springy and wet and infuses cold into Merlin's body. 

But it doesn't much matter because Arthur cocks his head at him and smiles, the sort of happy smile that makes his eyes tilt and light up. Merlin grins back, a little toothily perhaps. They keep looking at each other. The air gets lighter, expands Merlin's lungs in a weird way. It has a fizz to it. It sparkles. Well, not literally. It's just that Merlin's body wired with a sense of expectation.

It doesn't last indefinitely. Arthur sobers, places his palm on his chest and exhales. “Merlin,” he says, studying his face as if it's a book whose lines he's trying to decipher, “have you ever...”

“Yeah?” Merlin prompts.

“Wondered whether your mum was lying to you?”

“What do you mean lied to me?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but the lines around his mouth tighten, his neck cords. “Told you something you just know is not true.”

Merlin shrugs. “I suppose then yeah.”

“I'm not talking about parents telling you you'll grow world-record tall if you just eat all your spinach.”

“Duh.” Merlin says, rolling his shoulders so they nudge Arthur's. “I got that.”

“Well then,” Arthur asks, his gaze focusing on Merlin's. “Has she ever?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, turning his head and diverting his gaze onto the sky. “When I ask about my dad. She either clams up or fibs her way out of it.”

“So she refuses to talk about him?” Arthur asks, “or does she... I don't know really lie?”

“She said my dad is dead,” Merlin says, a crease forming between his eyes. “I don't really think he's dead.” Though he's considered the possibility countless times he always feels a little punch to the heart when he says that out loud. “I mean he might be, but I don't think she knows for sure.”

“Then why would she lie to you?”

“Because she thinks it'll be easier that way?” Merlin says. “So that she doesn't have to think about it? Because... she thinks I'll suffer less if I believe the reason he isn't coming back is because he can't and not because he won't?”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, knocking knees with him, covering Merlin's hand with his and giving it a light pat. “I'm really sorry I asked.”

“No, that's okay.” Merlin swallows. “You were asking for a reason though. About the lies.”

Arthur nods quickly. He stares ahead and says, “The other day Morgana found a key. It has a little tag attached to it that says Ygraine. I thought it was something important. So I asked Father. He said he doesn't remember what it opens.”

“And you don't believe him?”

Arthur flips on his side. “No.”

“You know maybe he's just like my mum,” says Merlin tentatively. “He just can't bring himself to talk about it.”

Arthur's eyes round. They get a little misty. He sniffles even. “I have a right to know. She was my mum.” He wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. “I want to find out.”

“I get that,” Merlin says, because he does. He's spent plenty a sleepless night wondering about his dad, what kind of person he is. He suspects that's why Arthur's sought him out today, because he knows Merlin's in the same boat. “I... Arthur, if I can help--” He makes sure he picks the right words. “I'm there okay. I want you to know I'm there for you.”

“I know.” Arthur nods quick, decisive. “I know you are.” Arthur lowers his gaze. “And I realise this is going to be asking a lot.” Arthur's Adam's apple takes a deep plunge here. “But will you help me find out?”

“Yes,” says Merlin without even thinking. “Yes, I promise.”

Arthur laughs. “That's decided then.” He picks himself up with a hop, dusts his himself off. He reaches a hand down to Merlin. “Let's go now or we'll never get back in time for dinner and your mum'll be cross with me.”

Merlin lets his fingers close around Arthur's palm and is up with a little bound. “My mum's not anal.”

“Neither is my father.”

“He did send you to boot-camp that one summer.”

Arthur claps Merlin low on the back. “That was the Scouts and it's a family tradition.”

Merlin makes a show of crossing his eyes. “Oh, yes, I forgot, it's a time honoured tradition in your family that goes back to the crusades era.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur says, picking up the bike and giving him a shove.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Merlin says as he and Arthur start back towards the village.

****

 

As he roots into his pocket for his mobile, Merlin takes his gloves off with his mouth. He goes to contacts and presses dial when the icon he searched for appears. The line is engaged so Merlin sends a text.

_Oi, Arthur, I was thinking how about a Christmas get together?_

Not thinking he'll hear from Arthur till he's back home, he pockets his mobile. Before he's halfway over, he gets a return text. It says: _Count me in._

 

**** 

Merlin pushes the door open with his foot and tucks the stepladder under his arm. Watching out for the snow covering his threshold, he takes two steps down, then places the ladder on the stairs. He tries the ladder and it doesn't wobble, so humming under his breath, he goes back into the house and carts the boxes out. 

He takes out the wreath. It's old and a little the worse for wear. Some of the ribbons and pine cones have come off over the years. But it doesn't look half bad and this was him mum's favourite decoration. Smoothing the ribbon out, Merlin hoists the wreath up. One-handed he searches for nails in his pocket.

He's nearly hammered a two inch nail into the lintel, when someone brushes behind him and grabs the ladder's sides. “Steady there,” Arthur says, an undertone of amusement threaded into his voice. “You wouldn't want to fall.”

Merlin cranes his head back so he can see Arthur. He looks good. His hair is shorter than it was when Merlin's last saw him, his face is relaxed, and his smile, a slightly smug one with its sideways twist, plays upon his lips. “You idiot,” he says, “you startled me. I might have fallen right off the thing.”

Arthur tuts. “I was there to catch you.”

“You still don't startle a man on a ladder!”

“Well, normally men on ladders know what they're doing.”

“I know what I'm doing!” Merlin says, hammering the last inch of nail into the wood of the door frame.

“Of course you do,” Arthur says, repositioning himself, but not letting go of the ladder. “Of course you do.”

As he centres the wreath, Merlin asks Arthur. “By the way, what are you doing here?”

“You invited me for Christmas.”

“It's not Christmas yet.”

“Well, no,” Arthur says in a higher tone than before. “I thought I'd come before the others.”

Merlin steps down the ladder but Arthur hasn't let go of the side rails, so Merlin finds himself within the circle of his arms. He flicks a little side-look at Arthur, clears his throat.

Arthur shifts his weight, tips his mouth to the right. His eyes are a notch wider when he steps back.

“Let me show you inside,” Merlin says, folding the ladder. “It's cold out here.”

Merlin leaves tools and ladder in the hall and guides Arthur into the kitchen. 

Arthur takes a seat at the table and says, “I'll have a tea.”

Merlin smiles, takes a bow, says, “Whatever you say, your highness.”

“Idiot.” Arthur balls up a napkin and throws it at him. “It's freezing cold. I'd forgotten how the Welsh damp could get in your bones.”

Merlin turns around and puts the kettle on. “Shame, and you a native. London has corrupted you.”

“Maybe.” Arthur nods. “I'm back, aren't I?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, taking a seat opposite Arthur, splaying his hands on the table. 

“So who else is coming?” Arthur arches an eyebrow. “Aside from Morgana. I know about Morgana.”

“Gwen and Leon,” Merlin says, standing to take the kettle off the fire. “Elyan and his current girlfriend. I don't know her. Lancelot.”

“Is that even a good idea?”

Merlin leans against the counter. “Lancelot's my friend too and, well... Most of the time he's away. I thought it was my last chance seeing him.”

“He'll be back,” Arthur says, his eyes gentling. “You know he always comes back from his roamings.”

“Yeah,” says Merlin, pivoting, puttering with tea bags and mugs. “Yeah, right.”

“But I suppose you have every right to invite him, seeing as he's your best friend,” Arthur says, lips compressed around the last few syllables.

Merlin whips around, two mugs in hand, and chortles. He shoves the reindeer one at Arthur.

Arthur slowly turns the mug around and watches the front with its smiling, red-nosed reindeer and seasonal background. He throws his head back and laughs, his throat working.

Merlin wants to come up with a witty piece of commentary but he can't think of any. His heart lightens, expands, pushes at his ribcage from the inside. His eyes slit till he almost can't see and he laughs too because Arthur's merriment is catching.

“You're still as ridiculous as ever,” Arthur says, sobering, sipping at his tea.

“You wouldn't want me to be all prim and proper like all those ITV execs you deal with every day, would you?”

“No, no, you're right.” Arthur's gaze pools on him and warms Merlin through and through. “I wouldn't want that.”

They sip their tea together. Arthur complains about his secretary at work – unable to take messages –, tells him about this new pub he found close to his office – serving great new brews – and gives him the details of his last row with Morgana. 

It's easy talking to Arthur like this. It's something known, something he can fall back into with no effort at all. A sense of ease settles in his bones, centres him, makes him fit into his body. He finds his lips stretched into a smile more often than not and he's laughing, laughing about the stupidest things, sometimes even without a reason. 

“My god, I can't stop,” Merlin says at one point, wiping tears from his eyes.  
Arthur's voice is strained by laughter. “It's bloody catching, that's what it is.”

“Yeah.” That's all that Merlin trusts himself with saying.

"Actors do it all the time when they flub their lines." 

Merlin says, “Yeah, you'd know."

Arthur points out to him that actors are spoiled brats, all of them. To the last one of them.

“Even Mordred?”

“Particularly Mordred I'm-theatre-trained-Jones,” Arthur says, with extreme glee. “He's such a pretentious twat.“

“You're only saying that to crash my dreams.” Merlin kicks Arthur under the table.

“Far from me,” Arthur says, fighting him back with a push of shoes. “You can retain your questionable tastes and nurture your crush in peace.”

Although they could probably battle the point out all day long, Merlin refrains from arguing. He offers to take Arthur's things from the car instead. Though Arthur swears blind he doesn't need any assistance shifting a canvas bag from point A to B, Merlin is adamant. “Let me just play host properly,” he says, climbing to his feet.

“That's not like you,” Arthur says as he follows him out of the house. “You're a fuck propriety guy.”

Merlin stops by the boot of Arthur's car, eyebrow up. “Open it.”

“Fine,” Arthur says, lifting the boot of his Jaguar. “There it is. One canvas bag. And your present, which you mustn't look at under any circumstances. 

Merlin's lips twitch. “Promise,” he says, and lifts the bag, letting Arthur handle the present. 

Merlin shows Arthur his room. “It's the biggest one I have.”

“It's sufficient,” Arthur says, then when Merlin's face falls, he adds, “It's great, Merlin, honestly. I actually don't understand why you're not running the B&B anymore.”

Merlin scratches behind his ear. “It wasn't working out, you know.” He makes a show of perking up. “But I've still got the fixtures.” He puts the bag on the foldaway stand. “See.”

“Yeah,” says Arthur.

“Well, I'll leave you to settle in a bit,” Merlin says, rubbing his hands down the front of his jeans. He flashes Arthur a smile. “Then we'll try and sort lunch out.”

 

**** 

2002

 

Merlin and Arthur lean their bikes against the shed and enter Arthur's house by the French windows. They find Morgana in the kitchen. She's cradling the phone between chin and shoulders. As she delivers witticism upon witticism, she ladles ice-cream into a bowl. When she sees Arthur and Merlin, she raises an eyebrow.

“Hi, Morgana,” Merlin says, waving at her.

She mimes hello back. “Yes, no,” she tells the person she's speaking to on the phone. You can't do that.”

Arthur says, “Merlin's sleeping over tonight.”

She arches an eyebrow, puts the receiver flat against her shoulder. “Does Uther know?”

“Yeah, sure,” Arthur says. “Whenever doesn't he?”

“He's out of town.” Morgana waggles her eyebrows, giving Merlin a speculative once over while Merlin tries to look completely innocent.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, as he raids the fridge. “I know. Not a problem.”

“Have fun then,” Morgana says, shrugging. She puts the receiver back to her ear and starts going on and on about a certain Cenred. 

Arthur chugs milk into his mouth, tucks snacks under his arm, and thunders up the stairs. Not particularly wishing to withstand Morgana's scrutiny – because Morgana's always watchful –-, Merlin dashes after Arthur.

He finds the door to his room open and closes it behind him. He drops his school bag on the floor and joins Arthur at his desk.

“Was Morgana still talking on the phone when you came up?” Arthur asks, nocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, moving a stool so he can sit next to Arthur. “Yeah.”

“All right, then, she'll be at it for a while then,” Arthur says and opens a drawer. Inside it are a few blank notepads, a collection of pens and rubbers, and a square box. He opens the latter and fishes a key out of it. “This is it.”

Merlin takes the key and turns it in his fingers. It's an ordinary Yale. A tag with a label is attached to it. As Arthur said, the word Ygraine is written across it. “And it doesn't open any door here?”

“The only Yale locks in the house are for the front door and shed,” Arthur tells him, because, of course, he's checked.

“So it opens something else?”

“Well, duh, Merlin,” Arthur says, though he's neither scoffing nor rolling his eyes the way he ordinarily would if they weren't talking about his mum. “We need to search Father's study.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, mouth opening. “We can't... We can't do that! If he catches us...”

“He's not here to catch us,” Arthur says, waggling his eyebrows. 

“But Morgana is,” Merlin points out. If he strains, he can even hear her walking about downstairs. 

“She'll go out at some point,” Arthur says, eyes sparkling. “Come on, Merlin.”

Merlin hesitates, hums. If they're caught and his mum finds out about it, she'll be very disappointed in him. Merlin doesn't enjoy letting her down. Every time he does he feels sick to the stomach. 

“Merlin,” Arthur says, and all the joy goes out of his eyes, to leave behind a wet sheen. Arthur isn't pouting. He isn't acting as though he's disappointed. But there's a tautness to his face and body, as if he's holding everything in. That tells Merlin he's holding his feelings close to his chest. This really matters to him. 

And crap, Merlin can't take Arthur's unhappiness. There's something cosmically wrong with it. It affects Merlin too. Arthur's pain gnaws at his insides. Maybe it's because Merlin understands what it means not to have a parent. Or maybe it's just what friendship is, sharing everything, getting your insides in a twist because your mate is feeling down. It doesn't matter either way. Merlin puts a hand on Arthur's. “It's all right, I'll do it.” He retracts his hand. “What are friends for?”

Arthur's eyes go huge. A smile brightens his whole face; in its wake all the tension that had played around his jaw dissipates, giving way to a new light that is almost painful to look at it's so full of unfettered enthusiasm. 

“Okay.” Arthur leans close to him, so much so Merlin expects him to whisper conspiratorially, except he doesn't. Warm breath fanning Merlin's ear, and warming his whole face, Arthur says, “this is what we'll do.”

 

****

Snow is piling up in the back lane and forming mounds on the windowsill. It's coming down in light flurries borne on by the wind. They whirl here and there, lighting on branches, on windscreens, on the roofs of the neighbouring houses, painting everything in a soft white.

“Do you think we'll be snowed in?” Arthur asks, causing Merlin to whirl round and drop the curtain. “Will we have to call in Mr Simmons with a tractor to rescue us?” 

“Hardly,” Merlin says, scanning Arthur. He has changed clothes. He's now wearing a pair of jeans and a soft blue jumper. The ensemble looks cosy, but stylish nonetheless. A touch of London to the practical wear fit for the countryside. Thanks to the outfit switch though, Arthur looks more like he used to when he lived here. And that makes Merlin's breath hitch and the memories flood back. When he realises he's been silent too long, Merlin mentally kicks himself and falls back into blabbering mode. “We'll probably be able to walk into town come lunchtime.”

Arthur gently chuckles. “And here I was thinking we'd be snowed in.”

“Nah,” Merlin says. “It doesn't get that frosty anymore.”

“What? You never got another winter like the glorious one of '03?” Arthur asks, his smile pushing up his cheeks. “Do you remember it?”

“You're joking?” Merlin says, snorting. “How could I forget it! School closed down. Roads impassable. It was heaven.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, looking down and to the side in a reminiscent manner, his smile still in place. “I do remember sneaking to yours though.”

“And me to yours.”

They share a silence. Merlin stuffs his hands in his pockets and shifts his weight. Arthur does more of the same. He clears his throat as if to shake off laughter. At last he asks, “So what are your plans for today?”

“I thought I'd clean up the other rooms and jolly them up with some Christmas trinkets.” Merlin rolls his shoulders into a shrug. “I don't really think you'd like to help with any of that?”

“Actually,” Arthur says, lifting his head a little. “I'd love that.”

Merlin dimples. “What, Arthur Pendragon with a duster?”

“Ha, ha, Merlin,” Arthur says. “Do I have to remind you that I live alone? I think I can cope with a duster.”

Merlin bypasses Arthur on his way out the room. “I'm sure your cleaning lady has an intimate relationship with it.”

Arthur follows him out. “Was that a double entendre, Merlin?”

“Har bloody har, Arthur.”

They come up with a divide and conquer plan to tackle the rooms' décor. Merlin dusts all surfaces and changes the light bulbs where needed. Arthur makes the beds while Merlin puts candles on the bedside tables. Together they decorate the fireplaces in the room. Merlin holds one end of the wreath and Arthur the other. They're at pains to find the hooks and to coordinate their efforts, Arthur tugging the wreath too far to his side while Merlin tries to pin it to his. As they fight over lengths of evergreen, Arthur teases Merlin about his lack of balance and Merlin fires back with more of the same. 

When they're done Arthur arches an eyebrow and says, “This is starting to look like a Christmas theme park.”

“I just wanted to pull all the stops,” Merlin says. “I mean Morgana is going to New York and Leon and Gwen are moving. Lancelot is never here to begin with. I thought...”

Arthur nods, doesn't comment, but the light in his eyes changes. “Okay, then. Let's finish with this.”

“We can have a lunch break, you know,” Merlin says. “Go into town.”

Arthur shakes his head, insists they should finish with the decorating first, but his stomach grumbles so Merlin pushes him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. “We're going to Rising Sun.”

“Still open, is it?” Arthur asks, as he pulls on his coat prior to going out. 

“Yeah.” Merlin puts on a few layers himself. “You know how old Kealey is. He'll sooner die than retire.”

On the way over into town, they run into several acquaintances. While Merlin's a familiar sight to the villagers, Arthur's not, not anymore in any case. Alice is the first they meet. When she claps eyes on Arthur, she crosses the street and comes over to them. “Hello, Merlin,” she says, before addressing Arthur. “Arthur Pendragon, welcome back!”

“Thank you,” Arthur says, shaking her hand warmly. “I'm always glad to come back.”

“Not missing London then?” she asks him.

“Not when I'm here, no,” Arthur says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. 

“And how's your dear father?” Alice, Merlin thinks, is probably the only woman in town who'd dare call Uther that. “It's been a while since I last saw him.”

“He's doing well,” Arthur says, smiling thoughtfully. “He's keeping busy, he seems to prefer living in the big city now that he's older.” 

After Alice, they encounter a variety of other people, inclusive of the postman and their old sixth form science teacher. As if they've tacitly agreed, they all ask Arthur the same questions Alice did. Arthur takes it quite in stride and answers meticulously.

Christmas decorations are all over town, from the sober lights decorating the front and back gardens of the largest houses to the multi-coloured ornaments bedecking the shop windows. 

Fairy lights brighten the trees that line the streets. Garlands dangle in uneven loops from passageways and along the front of shopping galleries. 

A glow shines from the frosted windows of the Rising Sun. A blinking sign that says Merry Christmas is plastered across its heavy wooden door. The door itself creaks when they pull it open, wrapping their hands around the handle at the same time. A pocket of warmth envelopes them both as they step onto the mat.

A sprig of mistletoe with large red waxy berries hangs on this side of the entrance. If they want to make it to the bar, they will have to pass under it Merlin's startled eyes meet Arthur's amused ones. Their lips twitch and Merlin can see Arthur's biting his cheeks, eyes alight with something like mischief. 

Merlin gives off a bark of a laugh, though his face heats up. “Leave it to old Kealey to play match maker.”

Eyes slitted in merriment, Arthur looks from Merlin to the floor and back again. “Yeah.” He shakes his head. “He's the type. I wonder how many couples he's responsible for.”

“Probably fewer then he likes to think,” Merlin says, nudging his scarf away from his neck. 

“Yeah,” Arthur huffs. “Though you never know.”

Merlin shrugs. “Yeah, maybe he's great at hooking up couples. ”

The moment he sees them Kealey pours two pints and slides the glasses down the counter. “I see you've brought the younger Pendragon with you, Merlin.”

“Yes,” says Merlin climbing onto his stool. “He's over for Christmas.”

“Not back for good then?” Kealey asks.

“No,” says Arthur, “I'm still based in London. But we're all here for a get together.”

“Oh a last goodbye,” Kealey says, sucking on his gums. “I see.”

“Hardly,” Arthur says as Merlin buries his head in the glass. “My sister's not going to be gone forever! She's only staying in the US for a year or so, and Gwen and Leon are just moving to Cambridgeshire.”

“Indeed,” says Kealey, trying to catch Merlin's eyes. When Merlin doesn't return the look he asks, “So what can I get you?”

After serving Merlin and Arthur their lunch, Kealey falls back to cleaning the counter. 

Arthur teases Merlin about liking onion rings at his age. Merlin fights back by saying Arthur's of course only into posh eateries. And Arthur tells him that that's not true. He's a very down to earth bloke. “Actually, I've found this place, near the Waterloo tube station and it serves really great stuff. We should go when you're next in London.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, toying with his onion rings. He breathes in and out till he's a little light-headed with his sudden oxygen intake. “To be quite honest...”

But a villager comes over to greet Arthur and the words die on his tongue. They finish their meal without Merlin having said what he meant to.

Back at home, they laze about for a while. Before night falls however, they give decorating the house's façade a go. They take out the ladder again and garland the first floor windows until wreathes of red and green frame them. They change the mat to a more festive one. 

“This is really overkill,” Arthur says, looking at the house. 

“It's Christmas, Arthur. It comes once a year. Let your inner kid out.”

“It's just... It's kitsch. I'm not going up that ladder again to kitschify your house.” 

Merlin sighs. “Just need to put up a little more stuff." 

Though Arthur pouts, Merlin can tell he's not really serious. So they go up in turns. Merlin insists on loving it, Arthur on disparaging. Before the sun's completely down, they're finished. A little breathless from all the work, Arthur asks, “So what, no holly? No mistletoe?”

“I'm not Kealey,” Merlin says, folding the ladder. “And all couples are already in place.”

“Yes,” says Arthur, lifting the collar of his jumper up against the cold and burying his face in its folds. “Yeah, you're right. No point.”

He follows Merlin back inside without further complaining about Merlin's questionable taste in decorations.

 

***** 

2002

Arthur kicks off his duvet and pads across the room to Merlin's sofa bed. He yanks the covers off Merlin and sits in the space between Merlin's belly and the edge of the bed. He emanates warmth. It seeps off his skin, filling the air in between them. He places his palm on Merlin's forearm, short of his shoulder. “Hey, Merlin,” he says, shaking him a little, “you haven't fallen asleep for real, have you?”

Merlin sucks in a breath that tastes like Arthur, says, “Of course I haven't. I was just being quiet.”

Arthur arches an eyebrow and Merlin can see the shadows play on his face. They're smudging his jaw line and the shape of his bones, but Merlin can see his eyes shine and he exhales sharp and loud. “No, I wasn't sleeping. We had a deal.”

Arthur says, “Good, because Morgana's gone out.”

Merlin stretches, makes a ball of himself to enjoy the last of the bed warmth and then stands at the same time Arthur does. They nearly bump chests. Arthur sniggers, Merlin bows his head. “Let's go, Sancho.”

“Does that make you the visionary bloke?”

“Shut up,” Arthur hisses, opening the door a sliver. “Coast's clear.”

“Well with Morgana gone and your dad's out of town. Who did you expect to be there?” Merlin asks, positioning himself behind Arthur. “The ghost of Christmas Past?”

“Oh, shut--”

“Up, Merlin,” Merlin finishes for him.

Without turning the lights on, they pad downstairs, their bare feet brushing against the carpet. Past the landing, they move down the hall, making for the door to Uther's study. Arthur looks left and right before opening the door.

The study is a large room lined with book—shelves and hung with portraits. A wide, polished oak desk sits in front of the window that gives onto the garden. The curtains, white and silk-like, have been drawn, so no light from the outside floods in.

Arthur crosses to the desk, grabs the cord of the Tiffany lamp and snaps the light on. The glow of it spills over the desk's surface, over the files and folders, the framed photographs and the bulk of the computer screen. 

“Should we...” Merlin asks, sidling from foot to foot and wringing his hands. “...you know, even be here?”

Arthur, who's slid behind the desk, looks up sharply, eyes wide and wounded. “I thought we'd agreed.”

“Yeah, but if my mum finds out,” Merlin says, licking his lips, “she'll have my hide. Besides it isn't fair to your dad.”

“You know he won't talk about my mum to me,” Arthur says, jaw locking. “How am I supposed to find out? How--” His voice breaks and Merlin wishes he'd never opened his stupid, stupid mouth. “How am I supposed to know about her?”

Air whooshes out of Merlin's lungs in one painful rattle. “No, you're right. Oh, hell,” Merlin says, not afraid of Uther anymore, not caring if he marches in right now and gives him the dressing down of the century. “Let's start with those files.”

They go through the folders – mostly business stuff that has nothing to do with Arthur's mum – and through his drawers. They find stationery, a calculator, some other documents, and a packet of condoms. “Ew, says Arthur, scrunching his nose up. “That's not something I wanted to know about my father.”

“Oh come on, Arthur,” Merlin says, “you weren't thinking...”

“What?” Arthur says, tilting his head back so he can look up at Merlin out of rounded eyes.

“You know,” Merlin says, riffling through papers. “That he was being abstinent.” He feels his ears heat up as he watches Arthur go beet red. So he stammers on the first thing that comes to mind. “I mean everybody has sex.”

Arthur swallows. “Yeah.” He drops his gaze and opens one of the folders they've already gone through. “Do you?”

Merlin coughs. “Yeah.” He scratches the side of his nose. “Yeah, you?”

“Sure,” Arthur says, “sure.”

Merlin's heart's beating too fast for him to concentrate on anything other than its rhythm, the way it pulses in his neck, and in the pads of his fingers. He's a little out of it, so he startles when he realises that Arthur has not only turned his father's computer on but he's already moved on to trying passwords.

“Crap, Merlin,” Arthur says, “I can't enter.”

Merlin blinks, then leans against Arthur, his hand on the back of his chair. “What have you tried?”

“Combinations of his name, the company's name,” Arthur says, leaning his weight against the chair and tilting his head up at Merlin. “Even his date of birth.”

“Mmm,” Merlin says, making sure he's got his eyes locked on the screen and not on Arthur's expectant face. Looking at him would surely undo all thought processes for a reason. “Have you tried yours?”

Arthur shrugs. “Worth a try,” he says, as he types in the numbers. His shoulders go down when they don't unlock the screen.

“Morgana's?” Merlin suggests.

They have a go at a few more tries but nothing happens. Arthur is by now thumping at the keyboard. 

“Wait,” Merlin says, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning over him, Arthur's body warmth seeping over to him through the fabric of his tee. “Try this one”, he adds, as he types the word one handed.

The start screen appears.

“You did it, Merlin!” Arthur says, standing up and wrapping an arm around him, his face tucked against Merlin's neck. “You did it. What was it?”

Merlin can do nothing but inhale the scent of Arthur's skin, rich with the smell of the shower gel he used. He can only feel how hot his body is under his shirt, how wide his shoulders have become in the past few months. It confuses Merlin, so he's slow to answer. When at last he does, he stammers, “Ygraine. It's Ygraine. The password.”

Arthur's head snaps up and he walks out of the embrace. “Really?” he says, with a sniffle.

“Yeah,” Merlin says. “He loved her. It makes sense.”

“He never talks about her.”

“I know but,” Merlin says, drumming his fingers over the back of his chair and looking down, “maybe he thinks about her all the time.”

Arthur makes an indeterminate kind of noise, like he's sucking in a lungful. Turning on his heels rather brusquely, he sinks back onto the chair fronting the screen. “Let's see if there's a clue in here.”

They open random folders. Most of them are job related and therefore hold no clue as to the key. Several contain photos of Arthur and Morgana – on holiday, at home, at parties – and Uther's first wife, Morgana's mum. Of Ygraine herself there are no pictures. Arthur's face falls at that. He stabs his finger at the enter key, looking for a photo of his mother. “Why isn't there one?” he mutters sotto voce.

“Arthur,” Merlin says, “we don't exactly have all night.”

“Right,” Arthur says, face hardening. He clicks open a folder. “What is this now?”

“It looks like his tax returns for last year,” Merlin says, wishing Arthur would close the file. He doesn't really want to know how rich Uther is. “Nothing for us there.”

“No actually,” Arthur says, tapping at the screen with his index. “There is.”

“I don't get it,” Merlin says, brow creasing. “What does your dad's self assessment have to do with the key?”

“Well,” Arthur says, “last year he got some revenue from a flat he rented.” He opens another file they had sighted before. “A flat he's paying council taxes for. A London flat I know nothing about.”

“So you think the key opens this flat?”

“Yeah,” says Arthur, shutting down the computer. “Yeah.”

“Well, one mystery solved.”

“Not really,” Arthur says, catching Merlin's eyes. “We've got to go to London to find out.”

 

***** 

 

The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree shine white and amber in turn. A few presents are already piled underneath it. There's not very many but those that are there have been neatly wrapped and decorated with bright paper and red and green bows. The fire crackles and pops as embers jump from the logs, while the light from the telly plays across the room, brightening it in snatches.

Arthur yawns, places a hand over his mouth. 

“Bit belated the covering up,” Merlin says.

Arthur nudges his foot with his. “It's late, you know. And you've put me through the grinder today.”

Merlin switches the TV off. “Oh poor Arthur, decorating did him in. And here I was thinking you were super fit.”

“I'll have you know I am,” Arthur says, taking his feet off the coffee table. “Very much so.” He wriggles his eyebrows. “I go to the gym twice weekly and weight lift.”

“Of course,” Merlin says. They're face to face and with the telly off, there's no sound other than that of the fire and nowhere to look at but Arthur's sleep smudged features. And Merlin finds he's forgotten the rest of what he wanted to say, a wave of fondness sweeping through him. “I...”

“You're losing your touch,” Arthur says, sounding more awake now. “I gave you such an in.”

“Oh, shut up, you twat,” Merlin says, yanking himself to his feet, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “I'm tired. I'll come up with something better in the morning.”

“Nu-uh,” Arthur says, getting to his feet too. “Time's run out. Repartee only counts if it's immediate.”

Arthur helps Merlin douse the fire. It extinguishes itself with a hiss and sigh, a dislodging of logs, casting the room in darkness but for the fairy lights. 

They both climb upstairs for the night. The treads creak under their combined weight. Merlin can only see Arthur's shadow as he goes up the last flight, his tread a counterpoint to Merlin's. 

When this house was a B&B, it was never this silent, noise carried in a completely different way, by amplification, by reverberation. But Merlin doesn't feel like anything's missing. He enjoys the vibrations in the air, the hum there is to it, the contained noiselessness. 

Once Arthur gets to the landing, Merlin turns on the light. He roots in the hallway cupboard for a linen change. But by the time he's found the supplies he needs, Arthur's no longer there.

A pile of towels in his arms, Merlin whirls around. The door to the bathroom is open and the mirror lights are on, bathing the room in their glow. 

Arthur is standing by the basin, shirt off, bag of toiletries in hand. Even though the lighting is harsh, Arthur looks fine. Well built, strong, with rounded biceps and hefty shoulders. His abs aren't as well defined as the rest of him, but Merlin thinks that makes Arthur better looking than any perfect model gracing the covers of a magazine. There is an earthiness to Arthur – there has always been – even with his golden boy good looks – that has always made him appear quintessentially real to Merlin. “I, um, have got towels for you.”

Arthur takes the handful from him, and their arms brush. “Doesn't this remind you a bit of when we were kids?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, “though I don't think we're getting up to any mischief this time, are we?”

“You never know,” Arthur says, holding his breath, before opening the tap. “You just never know.”

 

***** 

2002

 

As the train starts to move, they sink into their seats. A second later Arthur is on his feet again, rooting into his back pocket. He splays the map on the seat tray and says, “So, Merlin, let's review our strategy.”

Merlin palms his forehead. “Yes, right, the strategy, right.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, looking up from the map, “are you really still worrying about my father finding out?”

“No,” Merlin says and bites his lip.

“He thinks we're just going shopping for sports outfits.”

“I know.”

“Look,” Arthur says, placing his hand on Merlin's shoulder, “we'll just check this place, use the key, and then go crash at Aunt Morgause's with nobody the wiser as to our little detour.”

“What about the shopping we're not doing?”

“We'll say there was nothing we liked.”

“In the whole of London?”

“Father won't be fussed,” Arthur says. “It's not as if he's going to think the world's about to end because I didn't find a brand new sports kit.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, gnaws on the fat of his lip, but then says, “Okay, all right. So where's the flat?”

Arthur points his finger at a spot on the map. “Exmouth Market.” He flips the tube map open. “So I guess once we get to London we should...” He hums a little under his breath. “...take the Bakerloo line to Baker Street and then change at King's Cross. We can walk the rest of the distance.”

Merlin doesn't say it's not the walking part that worries him.

 

***** 

 

Arthur surfaces from his bedroom at ten o' clock. Merlin places a portion of reheated leftover eggs in front of him. “Good morning, lazy daisy.”

Arthur blinks blearily at him. “I wake early every day of the week, Merlin.”

“But not today,” Merlin says with a grin.

“I'm on holiday,” Arthur says, knuckling his eyes and picking up the fork. “Crashing at my mate's. I'm allowed to be lazy.”

“When aren't you?” Merlin asks, sitting across from Arthur.

“Never,I told you,” Arthur says, stuffing his mouth with eggs. “There's only a lone, tiny mushroom here.”

“Sorry. I ate them all when I realised you weren't about to wake up.” 

“You're such a bad host,” Arthur says, kicking his shin with his bare foot.

“Said the guest complaining about his breakfast.”

When they're done with their morning meal, they go into the garage. It's full of odds and ends in the shape of spare parts, old musty furniture and boxes full of things Merlin ought to give away to charity. It smells like lawn treatment, old cardboard and motor oil, with a dash of mould. The light is dim, provided only by a sliver of horizontal window placed high under the roof. It's more than enough to steer by, but still not much in the way of illumination.

As a child Merlin was scared sick of this place. He believed a monster, some kind of dragon hid in there. It took years and Arthur daring him to spend the night in the place before Merlin realised that nothing was lurking in the shadows. Well, nothing aside from Arthur, who'd decided to surprise Merlin with his presence. At the stroke of midnight. Merlin nearly had a heart attack that time, but Arthur stayed over and nothing supernatural poked its head in. So in a way Merlin did get proof there was nothing in his garage.

Merlin takes the bikes down from their walls stands. They're old and a bit rusty. But after some oiling and greasing and tyre inflating, they're viable. Arthur says they look like those old grandfather bikes postmen used to parade around the countryside in the Edwardian Age. Merlin tells him it's the same bike he had when they were kids and Arthur's eyes go large and slit at the corners. “So it is!” he says, nearly at screech pitch. “So, it is, Merlin.” 

Merlin smiles as Arthur climbs onto the saddle, feet down, and tries the brakes. “We should go to the lake,” he says, gleefully sounding the bell. “Like we used to.”

“It's December, Arthur.”

“Come on, what's a little cold!”

Arthur's smiling so hard, so crazily, that Merlin can't bring himself to say no. It's probably freezing out there. Merlin can't be sure because he went directly from house to garage but the sky is definitely charcoal. A look out of the window earlier told him that the asphalt is covered in frost patches. It means nothing though, not when Arthur seems so wide eyed and happy at the prospect of going to the lake.

So Merlin pulls a woollen hat over his brow, loops a scarf around his neck, and mounts on his bicycle. “Okay, all right, let's go.”

Merlin wasn't wrong. The air has a cold, vicious bite to it and Merlin's breath crackles with every exhalation. His fingers, though encased in thick gloves, smart and cramp around the handle bars, and his muscles react slowly, sluggishly. The wind tastes of snow and numbs the lips, but all the same, Merlin makes himself yell, “Up the hill. Let's see who gets there first.”

Hunching over the front wheel, Merlin stands on the pedals and pumps his old bicycle up the road.

Arthur lags ten feet behind and is just now starting to seriously climb his way up.

That's the catalyst for Merlin to try even harder. He grinds his way up the harsh path, wheels whirling more slowly as the track gets steeper. He isn't tired though. His legs do burn but his mind's not on it. He's not focusing on his body so much as on what he's feeling. There's a lightness to it, a thoughtlessness, a living in the moment vibrancy blooming in Merlin and it makes him experience a simple wash of joy. His heart's beating fast in his chest, his face hot with exertion, and his body's warming in spite of the frost hanging in the air.

Mountain peaks come into view in the far distance, crags hinting at ranges extending far beyond, rock covered in snow under the washed out midday sun. The trail meanders around heather-crested hillocks, encrusted with hoar and yellowed with cold.

The lake waters are heavy and dull with it too, laced with grey, reflecting the scuttling of the clouds. 

Merlin and Arthur lean their bikes against a tree. They haven't brought blankets and the ground is too chilly for them to lie down on as they used to when they came here during summer.

So instead they sit on a boulder, play skimming stones. Merlin wins. He's had a lot of practice. They stare out at the lake, inhaling the fresh mountain air, even laden with snow as it is. “I've missed this place,” Arthur says, drawing back his arm to throw the pebble he's been holding on to. “You don't know how much.”

Merlin drinks in the landscape, feels it deep in his bones. “I can imagine missing this place.”

“Well, recently I've grown particularly sentimental about it.”

Merlin inhales the smell of moss, impresses it upon his memory. “In what way exactly?”

Arthur chuckles, weighs another stone in his palm. He doesn't look at Merlin but stares ahead. “I pitched a project. It's a drama set here, just--” Arthur lobs the stone at the water. It skips only twice. “In the past. Edwardian age I was thinking.”

“Cool,” Merlin says. Knowing Arthur, it'll be something thoughtful, it will be showing insight, and have some clever twist. Arthur's stuff is always like that. New and interesting. “Is it a done deal?”

“They've bought it,” Arthur says. “ITV will be making it into a four part drama.”

“Am I talking to the next Fellowes?” Merlin asks, pinching Arthur in the side. 

“No, you idiot. I'm not quite so enamoured with the aristocracy.”

“Oh so we won't have lords and ladies?”

“No,” Arthur says, lips in a pout. “It's going to be a gritty, realistic drama. About miners and socialism and...” Arthur rakes up a stone, clutches it in his fist. “I thought of you when I wrote it. I thought... This is something Merlin would like.”

“I'm flattered,” Merlin says, and somehow he must be because his body warms from the neck up and his heart takes to beating with such persistence it might blow a hole through his chest. “I'll try and catch it.”

“Oh no, no. I won't hear such talk,” Arthur says, throwing his stone, but turning his head so he can't see what's happened to it. “You must watch.”

By the time they make their way back home, their limbs have nearly frozen solid, the skin of Merlin's nose is reddened past redemption, feeling brittle and as if it's about to fall off, and he can't uncurl his hands from their grip on the handlebar.

When they get to Merlin's drive, they sight a car. It's large and grey, of German make. Despite the weather, both the windscreen and the paintwork are spotless. The doors open and out of them spill Leon and Gwen, Elyan and his girlfriend.

“Merlin!” Gwen calls out, waving, screeching a tad. “Merlin, we're here!”

Merlin hops of the still moving bicycle and says, “Gwen!”

 

***** 

 

2002

 

They come up Farringdon Lane and before they can mentally brace themselves, they are in Exmouth Market. It is a cobbled pedestrian street, with lower buildings and heaps of stalls and bars and restaurants selling aromatic food. It looks like a village street plonked in the heart of London. 

The flat they're looking for sits in a brick construction with a flat roof. They don't have keys for the street door, but a girl's coming out of the building anyway and Merlin and Arthur sneak in with no problem. 

They climb the stairs to the first floor.

“Which flat is it?” Merlin asks. All doors look alike, white lacquer, a brass round handle.

“Flat six,” Arthur says, starting up a second flight of stairs.

The key turns in the lock like a charm, like the door's last been opened yesterday. 

Merlin must admit to having held his breath till this very moment, a conviction this would go tits up having lodged in his brain. But when he steps into the flat, he sighs in relief, giddy with the notion of having been proven wrong.

The flat is square, white washed. Two large windows invite in a flood of bright light. There's no furniture to speak of barring a few pictures on the wall and some empty shelves in the corner.

“Let's try the other room,” Arthur says. 

They enter a rectangular room that is all wall on one side. On the other stands a glass fronted cabinet. Boxes are inside. Under the window to the side, there's a slim table on which a projector stands.

“So,” Merlin says, watching Arthur as he in turn studies the room, “what do we do now?”

“I want to see if there's anything of hers left.”

“But Uther rented the house at one point,” Merlin says, and he doesn't want to. The last thing he wants is to cause Arthur sadness, but that's something they do have to consider. “What are the odds he's kept her stuff?”

Arthur, spine rigid, moves towards the cupboard. “He kept the flat, didn't he?”

Merlin can see the logic in that. “Yeah.”

Arthur moves over to the cupboard and starts rooting in the boxes. “These look like film reels,” Arthur says, eyes wide with curiosity. “Merlin, turn on the projector will you?”

Merlin pads over to the corner of the room and pulls the projector towards himself, making sure it won't fall off the table. “How do you even work it,” he murmurs, but soon finds the plug. He inserts it in the socket just as Arthur wanders over. “Try this one,” Arthur tells him.

Merlin turns the reel in his hands several times before he's got a sense for the shape of it and its use. He places it onto the spool, releases the bit of tape holding it closed and threads the film onto the slot. 

“Are you sure it works like that?” Arthur asks, eyes fixed on the reel, voice hushed and a little thready.

“I don't see how else it can work,” Merlin says, checking the film is securely latched onto the spools before turning the reel forward and back, working the film onto it. He makes sure to handle the reel carefully, not touching the film itself for fear of ruining it. “Try pulling that thing down.”

Arthur does.

“Okay,” Merlin says, “let's turn it around and try and project this on the wall. It should work.”

The film is in black and white. It opens with a view of a canal somewhere. The stark greys at the bottom are pitted against the white of the clouds. The camera pans over a bridge, padlocks of different dimensions chained to the railing. A birds eye view of the structure is the next centre of focus, followed by a take of the padlocks chained to the railing. 

The titles scroll across the bottom of the picture. They're a bit faded because they're projecting the image onto a wall and not a proper screen but Merlin can still make them out. The first name to appear is Mab Jones. The one that pops after it is Alator Webster. The words Directed By Ygraine du Bois replace the name of the fourth cast member. 

“My mum,” Arthur says, stepping forwards, a hand outstretched. “My mum directed that.”

“Yes,” Merlin says on a spent breath. He doesn't think he has the courage to say anything more, not when Arthur's shoulders rise as if he's bolstering himself for pain, not when his hands form into fists. “Yes, it seems she did.”

“Why didn't my father say?” Arthur asks, wiping at his face with his knuckles. “I don't get it. He... This looks beautiful. Why didn't he tell me she was so gifted?”

“I don't know, Arthur,” Merlin says, taking Arthur's hand. “I don't know.”

Arthur pulls him to him by the shoulders and causes their chests to slam together. He fists Merlin's shirt, making a knot of a bunch of fabric. His shoulders rise and fall with the measure of his sobs. His cheek is wet with the tears Merlin can't see but knows Arthur must be shedding.

Taking a breath and plunging headlong into this, Merlin widens his arms and wraps Arthur in them. There's a lump in his chest, one that expands till it squeezes his lungs and heart out, and Merlin can't breathe and his heart pumps too fast, painfully so. But he doesn't let himself cry, though he wants to. He wants to for Arthur, or because of him and his pain, he's not sure. Either way he just holds onto him and lets him stifle his cries on his shoulder.

Merlin is running his hand down Arthur's back in what he believes are soothing motions, when the floorboards creak. Before he can blink, two policemen armed with batons have entered. 

 

***** 

 

“Merlin,” Gwen says, hugging him. “It's been too long!”

“Two months,” Merlin says, smiling into Gwen's embrace. “You're right, it's been too long.”

“Merlin,” Leon says, shaking his hand, “such a pleasure to see you!”

Gwen and Leon move on to Arthur. They shake his hands and start updating him on their life. “Buying a house is such a pain. There are stamp duties and renovation fees to think about. It's all so time consuming. Sorry for not keeping up with you these past few months.”

Next Merlin greets Elyan, and gets introduced to his new girlfriend. She's tall, brown-haired, her eyes a subdued green in the waning light. “Hi, I'm Sefa,” she says. “So glad to meet you, Merlin.”

Arthur and Merlin move the couples' luggage into the house. Gwen protests, says they oughtn't. But Merlin insists that as the owner, he should help them in. “I used to do this all the time for the B&B's guests.”

When the luggage has been seen to, they all gather up in the lounge, where the Christmas tree is. Leon and Gwen take the sofa, their hands clasped. Sefa has the small armchair, and Elyan is perched on its arm. With all the available sitting places occupied, Merlin sits on the carpet, cross legged, while Arthur looms over him to the side, leaning against the mantelpiece.

“So what have you been up to?” Gwen asks. 

“Nothing as exciting as you.” Merlin rolls his shoulders into a shrug. “I'm not getting married.” He looks to Gwen and Leon. “And I haven't started a new relationship, so no news I'd say.”

“Aw,” says Gwen, “we really ought to find you a date, shouldn't we, Leon?”

Leon opens his mouth then shuts it when Arthur says, “Merlin's old enough to find himself dates if he wants to.”

Merlin's head whips up. “Oh my, Arthur agreeing with me. Is it Christmas already?”

“Oh, shut up, Merlin.”

“It's just...” Merlin grins. “Let's be honest here I was quite surprised to hear you defending me.”

“I take your side all the time!” says Arthur. “Remember when Mr Jones thought you'd flooded the lab to avoid the chem test?”

“Oh that was ten years ago.”

“I sided with you when that old boyfriend of yours--” Arthur squints, crosses his arms. “What was his name again, Elliott?”

“Edwin,” Merlin supplies.

“Yes, with Edwig,” Arthur says, “I supported you all the time.”

“Well, duh, you didn't even like him to begin with.”

As Merlin and Arthur argue the point, Sefa bats her lashes and Gwen says, “Don't worry, they've always been like that.”

“Yes,” Leon agrees. “When I first met Gwen, I was a little bit surprised, but now I've grown used to it.”

“So you all met...”

“Oh, way back when,” says Gwen. “Arthur, Merlin and I went to secondary together.”

Leon waves his fingers between himself and Gwen. “I met Gwen when I was in uni. I actually was Arthur's room-mate during our first year there.”

“Yeah,” Gwen says, patting his hand. “And then you came over.”

“But by then Merlin and Arthur already were great bickerers like that,” Leon says. 

“We don't always argue!” Merlin protests. “Do we?”

“No,” Arthur says, shaking his head from side to side, cheeks puffed. “We absolutely don't. Merlin and I get along absolutely fine.”

“We're not questioning that,” says Gwen.

Leon says, “When Morgana's there--” He nods at Arthur. “She's Arthur's sister, it's even worse.”

“Does she tease you a lot?” Sefa asks Arthur.

“She likes to think she has something to tease me about,” Arthur says, “but, of course she doesn't. When she's out of fodder, she latches onto Merlin, though she's insanely fond of him, so she's much less blunt with him.”

“She's never blunt with me!” Merlin says.

“Not when she has you into pet dog mode.”

“I'm not her pet dog.” Merlin scoffs. 

“Most of the time she thinks you are.”

“She--”

Gwen interrupts them by clearing her throat. “So when is she coming?” She shares a look with Leon. “She's coming, right?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, flipping through his texts. “She says... Gonna be there by the twenty-third.”

“Oh, that's great,” says Gwen, hand on her heart.

“Yeah,” agrees Leon.

“Lancelot will probably turn up tomorrow,” Merlin says. 

“Yes, you said he would come,” says Gwen, her hands around her throat. “I'm glad he is actually. I want to stay friends. He's such a part...” She shares a look with Leon. “We want to be friends with him.”

“Definitely,” says Leon.

Sefa seems to have been informed about the situation because she doesn't question anyone about Gwen and Leon's relationship to Lancelot. 

“So dinner,” Merlin eventually says, picking himself up and clapping his hands together. “I'm afraid Arthur and I forgot to go grocery shopping in favour of a literal trip down memory lane--”

“Come on, that ride was fun and totally worth starving for.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, looking down. “Yeah.”

“Are we really going to starve?” Sefa asks, goggling the littlest bit.

“We have lemon tartlets in the car,” Elyan says, elbowing Sefa jocularly. “Bought them on the motorway.”

“No need for those,” Merlin says. “Arthur and I can whip up something.”

“Why me? Arthur asks. “Why aren't you punishing them with your cooking stuff?”

Together, and despite protests, he and Arthur make dinner for their guests. It's not much. They steam some rice, bring out a few dips, and slice some bread they warm in the oven. 

“I promise we're going to have a proper dinner on Christmas day,” Merlin says, to the evident relief of all those present.

 

****  
2002

 

Merlin kicks his foot against the leg of the bench, ducks his head every time a uniformed policeman passes. When that happens, his face heats up and his stomach cramps. He feels positive they all know what he's here for. And soon his mum will know too and he'll read disappointment in her eyes. They must have phoned her, mustn't they? So she'll know by now. Unless they were too busy with major crimes. Crimes, oh god. He's going to have a record. He palms his forehead. 

Arthur beside him is silent. His hands are folded in his lap, his lips pressed together. There's a haunted look to his eyes, which are wet and a little bit blood shot. He hasn't spoken in a while and Merlin hasn't tried to talk to him. 

He keeps intending to, but doesn't know how.

Though he's likely to say something inane and not at all consolatory, he's about to open his mouth, when Uther stalks up to them and says, “What is the meaning of this!”

Arthur shoots up. “Father.”

“Arthur,” Uther says, his mouth as tight as his son's, “could you please explain why I got a call from the police saying you tripped an alarm!”

“It's my fault,” Merlin says, snapping to his feet right next to Arthur. “Arthur found a key, and it was to a flat you owned, and I thought I want to see it. And I convinced him to..”

Uther arches an eyebrow at him. “Merlin, I appreciate your attempt at covering for my son, but I know this wasn't you.” He looks over to Arthur. “So, Arthur, what have got you to say in your defence?”

“Nothing,” Arthur says, head down. “I made a mistake, I'm sorry.”

Merlin clenches his fists, bites his tongue till he can taste the copper on it. Then, blurts out, “He only did it because it was his mum's place and he wanted to find out what she was like, because you won't talk about her and that's wrong.”

Uther's gaze swivels onto him. For a second it's flinty and it spears Merlin through. Merlin wants to die a little bit. He'd also be okay with it if the floor opened up and he could sink into it. Under Uther's scrutiny his eyes start to sting and his face goes up in flames. 

But then Uther puts a hand on his shoulder.“You're a good friend, Merlin, and you're right. I ought to... I ought to have been a different kind of father.”

Arthur starts. “Father...”

“Arthur, I,” Uther turns towards his son. “Is what Merlin's saying true?”

“You never wanted to discuss her,” Arthur says, eyes locked on the floor, spine curved. “I asked you and you never answered.”

A sob tears out of Uther. “Arthur, I never meant to cause you pain. I meant to spare you.”

“Not knowing,” Arthur says, lifting his gaze so that it meets his father's, “is much worse.”

“God, Arthur,” Uther says, pulling his son to his chest for a white-knuckled embrace.

Merlin bows his head, till his chin grazes his chest, then ambles towards the stairwell. Nobody stops him. Not that he thinks he's suddenly become public enemy number one. He sits on the top stair. For a while he gawpes at stuff. Uniforms go up and down the stairs. A plains-clothes officer thunders down the stairs with a thick folder tucked under his arm while a couple of PCs haul in a skin head cursing a blue streak.

Merlin places the heels of his hands at his temple. Fuck, he's sharing breathing space with murderous skin-heads. He sniffles.

The weight of a hand lands on his shoulder, then Arthur sits next to him. “Dad's gone to confirm to Sergeant Bates that the flat's his. We aren't going to be charged. No need to worry, Merlin.”

Merlin does feel a bit better at that. His temples do stop pounding at least. But he gnaws his lips all the same. “My mum's still going kill me.”

“I'll explain,” Arthur says, putting his hand on top of Merlin's. “Promise. You helped me. I'll... I'll do the same. Swear.”

“I know,” Merlin says, failing at producing a smile. “She's still going to murder me.”

“She won't,” Arthur says. “First because I'm going to tell her that it's all my fault--”

“Arthur, I did it of my own free will, because it was important,” Merlin says, licking his lips. “She's not stupid. She knows I have a mind of my own.”

“And second because she's a great lady, your mum. And she knows that to be a good mate sometimes you do stupid stuff...” Arthur's throat works. “But that doesn't mean that that stuff isn't appreciated.”

“Arthur, you don't--”

Arthur plasters his hand across Merlin's mouth. It's warm and dry, a ghost of pressure. His eyes gentle. “Nope, you've got to let me say it,” Arthur says, smiling into his face, “that kind of stuff makes you a great mate, loyal, the bes--”

“Arthur,” Uther says, jiggling his cars keys. “I've sorted everything out. We can go.”

“We're driving Merlin home too, right?”

“No, Arthur, I'm kicking him to the kerb after he's come all the way to London to help you with your plan.”

“Sorry, Father,” Arthur says, ducking his head.

“Thank you, Mr Pendragon,” Merlin says.

Uther descends two steps. “Well, let's get going. I'll call your mum from the car and explain to her that, though misguided, your actions were motivated by good intentions.” He fiddles with his keys some more. “Now let's get going.”

 

***** 

 

The moan is deep and prolonged. Merlin turns on his side, buries his head under the pillow. The next sound that pierces the quiet of his room is a bitten off scream. Merlin grabs the other pillow and places it atop the first one. Surely, from under two, he shouldn't be able to hear anything. But the creaking of a bed frame registers with him as does the rhythmic escalating panting.

“Oh, all right,” Merlin says, kicking off his blankets, “all right.”

He pulls on a jumper, buries his feet in a pair of socks and leaves his room, padding across the landing, where the noises are louder. He veers towards the stairs. A hulking shape sits at the bottom of it. Merlin descends a step. The person sitting on the bottom rung turns, and thanks to the moonlight seeping in through the fanlight, Merlin recognises Arthur.

“You up?” he says, as he goes down the rest of the way and sits next to him on the bottom step.

“No, I'm sleepwalking,” says Arthur, his eyes bright in the dark because of some trick of the light. 

Merlin snorts a laugh, bumps shoulders with him. “Idiot."

“So you too, eh?”

Merlin looks away, a smile stretching his mouth. “Let's say the background noise kept me up.”

Arthur gives him a knowing look. “Were you having all sorts of improper thoughts about your mates?”

“Yes, Arthur, yes. I was wanking to thoughts of Leon and his cardigans.” 

“You're a twit.” He lets Arthur ruffle his hair but then turns his head to shake him off.

“How did you even manage when this place was a B&B?” Arthur asks.

“I had the soundproofing taken out when I reconverted the house to a proper home,” Merlin says. He hasn't reconsidered, but having guests has become interesting. “I didn't know noise would carry quite like this.”

“This puts things in a brand new light,” Arthur says, shoulder nudging him.

Merlin frowns. “How?”

“Oh come on,” Arthur says. “You were an adolescent at one point. You must have wanked.”

Merlin feels the sides of his face warm up. “Well, yeah.”

“So your mum must have heard you.”

Merlin whines. “Please, don't let me think about that.”

“And then there was that time...”

“Oh, my God,” Merlin says, burying his face in Arthur's shoulder. “She never said.”

“She wouldn't have,” Arthur says, rubbing his shoulder. “Your mum was a pretty special woman.”

Merlin hangs his head. “Yeah, she was.” He falls silent, and Arthur doesn't say anything either. They stare in the same direction, faces angled at the door. At length Merlin says, “How's Uther?”

“He's fine,” Arthur says. Then he amends, “He's better. I mean for a time there I thought...”

“You were scared,” Merlin guesses for him. 

“Yes,” Arthur says, jiggling his foot. “But now he's learning to take things more easily and it seems he's all right.” Arthur shakes his head. “I mean he'd probably like to go back to his former rhythms and there's no doing that, but compared to before... It's fine.”

“I'm glad.”

“You know,” Arthur says, “we wouldn't be where I am now if not for you.”

“I don't think--”

“No,” Arthur says, “you single-handedly patched up my relationship to my father. We wouldn't be where we are without you.”

“Arthur,” Merlin exhales, shaking his head, “I just agreed to a silly escapade when we were sixteen. The rest is up to you and your dad hashing it out.”

“Which doesn't come easy to Pendragons,” Arthur says, nodding. “Talking about things.” He meets Merlin's eyes and even in the dark they shine with meaning. “But that doesn't mean we don't value those things.”

“I never thought so,” Merlin says. “That you didn't.”

Arthur looks away, drums his fingers on his thigh. “No. You probably knew all along. You've always known me, haven't you?”

They share a silence that Merlin feels is tenser than the one from before. Merlin shifts. The stairs creak under his weight. “Are you hungry?” Merlin asks. “I think I'm hungry and I don't particularly want to go back upstairs.”

Arthur sucks his lower lip in. “Neither do I.” He stands. They're clipping shoulders now. “So what are you suggesting?”

“I've still got a few eggs left...”

“The last of the food between us and starvation?”

Merlin rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “I'll run to the village before that bunch wakes up.” He nods in the direction of the upper floor. “Are you telling me you're against crepes and ice-cream?”

“I could never say no to crepes and ice cream,” Arthur says, waggling his eyebrows and thumping into kitchen after him.

Merlin takes down the recipe book. It's thick and its cover is red, the spine cracked, a thousand little raised lines running along it. It's full of earmarks his mother put there. There are pressed leaves hiding among the pages. The book smells like her too, a soft lingering scent like clementines. 

He opens it on the table, finds the recipe he was looking for. Arthur nods. Together they try to operate the crepe machine. Before they manage to actually set to work, Arthur has started a Luddite rant and questioned Merlin's intelligence at least twice. “How did you even get your guests breakfast when you were running a B&B?”

Merlin snaps back, “Well, I had Freya to do that!” 

Arthur becomes quieter after that and much more collaborative. They prepare the batter together. Arthur insists on using more sugar than the recipe says, and Merlin only consents after he's ribbed Arthur about his sweet tooth. “Really, Arthur, really,” he says and makes little snorting noises.

For his pains he gets flicked with the batter. It sticks to his skin; he even has some in the corner of his eyes. “I ought to make you lick it clean.”

“Who says I wouldn't?” Arthur says, neck reddening. He whirls round, bowl in hand. “It's sweet, isn't it? So I'll like it since according to you, I'm Mr Sweet Tooth.”

Merlin lets out a little breath. “That would make you sound like a model on some kind of sexy calendar.”

“I could easily feature.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. You're the new Brad Pitt.”

 

Arthur body bumps his. “Brad Pitt is old? I'm much more--”

“Sprightly?”

 

Thanks to their combined efforts, they succeed in making crepes. They're not as soft as Freya's used to be, but they're golden, and covered in a fine rain of sugar. 

They ladle ice-cream onto their respective plates and move into the lounge, where they turn on the telly. Night-time programming is absolute shit so they proceed to take the piss out of it, the more so when the presenter of a docu about iguanas starts talking about breeding season in a sultry voice, “That's one sexy iguana!”

“You wanna mate with it?”

“Shut up!” Arthur says, kicking his foot. “Oh my God they're showing it. That's iguana sex, Merlin.”

Merlin chortles at the screen where two iguanas tangle together, the male on top, grasping the female's neck and biting it. The commentary, delivered in an epic style, is so ridiculous Merlin may die with laughter. 

With prime material such as that, it's impossible to avoid laughing till they're red in the face. Helpless for breath, they look at each other, then start again, tears in their eyes.

At some point though they must have fallen asleep because when Merlin wakes, there's a plate balanced on his chest, light is flooding into the room, and Lancelot and Morgana, bearing their luggage are standing in the doorway.

“Merlin.” Morgana's gaze travels on to Arthur. “Arthur, hello.”

 

**** 

2002

 

The drive narrows and Uther slows the car, parking it under the shadow of a tree and in sight of Merlin's home. Uther kills the engine and looks into the rear-view. “I've spoken to your mum and explained things to her.”

Merlin twists his mouth. “Thank you, sir. I still think I'm in for a good telling off.”

“I can't help with that,” Uther says. Then looking into the rear-view mirror he says, “But I thank you.”

Merlin releases the door handle and meets Uther's eyes. “W-what for?”

“For being there for Arthur.”

“Thank you, Father,” Arthur says, “for making me sound like an idiot.”

Uther turns to Arthur. “Arthur...”

Arthur's shoulders go up at the same time his head goes down. 

“Thank you, sir,” Merlin says, then kicking the back of Arthur's seat, he adds, “See you, at school.”

Merlin gets out of the car, slips his hands into his pockets and slogs towards home. The patter of feet down the drive sounds loud in his ears. Then Arthur tackles him, grabs him by waist and shoulder and turns him round. “I just wanted to say,” he tells him, “chin up, okay? I mean she's probably going to be a bit angry.”

“You don't say,” Merlin says, pushing up an eyebrow. 

“But I'll tell her,” Arthur says, running a hand through his hair from base forwards. “I'll tell her what... How much I owe you.”

“Arthur, you owe me nothing,” Merlin says, because he can't really deal with his heart softening at the edges when he's about to get the dressing down of the century. “You know, that.”

“I know what I know.” Arthur waggles his eyebrows.

“Is that an attempt to sound deep, you tosser?”

Arthur rumples Merlin's hair, then says, “No.” His lips quiver. “Bye, Merlin!” he adds, before jogging back to his dad's glossy car.

Merlin sighs and walks the rest of the way home. He opens the door gingerly, somehow hoping his mum will have gone to sleep. But he finds her in the lounge. She's sitting on the sofa, hands on her lap, her stockinged feet resting on the rug. “Merlin,” she says, “what the hell were you thinking!”

“Er,” Merlin says, scuffing his toes against the carpet. “I don't think I was thinking.”

“Merlin, you broke into someone's property!” she says, standing up, hands on hips.

“Technically, we had a key so we didn't break in,” Merlin says, biting his tongue when his mum's eyes flash. He isn't sure he's ever seen her quite this angry before. “Right, shutting up now.”

“Merlin, you could have come out of this with a criminal record!” she says, tapping her foot against the carpet. “Have you any idea what that means?”

“Uther wouldn't have reported us.”

“You were lucky, Merlin,” his mum says. “Uther isn't your dad and you were on his property!”

“I know he isn't,” Something inside him flares up at mention of the word 'dad'. All the blood rushes to his head. “After all, I know nothing about my real dad, do I?” Tears are flooding his eyes by now and he can't stop himself from giving in, breathing too quickly or turning his face into a mask of misery. So that his mum won't see, he rushes upstairs, yelling, “I know he isn't.”

And it's stupid and absurd, because it's not as if he wants Uther Pendragon for a dad. The thought's never entered his brain. And it's not like Arthur isn't in the same boat as him. He lost a parent, too. But Merlin's just overflowing with these feelings and he can't stop them from working their way through him, from pushing out by way of ugly sobs and tears. He doesn't want to let them out but it looks like he hasn't got a choice.

He leans his weight against the door to his room to open it and slams it shut behind him. He throws himself face down on the bed and releases frantic sobs.

He's been soaking his pillow for a few minutes, when the door creaks and the mattress dips. A hand settles on his shoulder. “Merlin,” his mother says, “I didn't mean to say that...”

“I know,” Merlin says, sitting back up, shoulders heaving. 

“I just worry,” his mum says, running a hand up and down his back. “You've never done anything so... so silly before. And I thought, there, adolescence's catching up with him.”

“I'm sorry I acted stupid.” Merlin wipes at his nose. He looks down. “But I can't say I wouldn't do it again. I mean it was important for Arthur.”

“Arthur,” his mum says, seeking his gaze. 

“Yeah.”

“Merlin, I know you care about him very much,” she says, “and I understand wanting to do everything in your power to help someone you feel that for, but I can't help but wonder whether you understand what it is you feel.”

“Of course I do,” Merlin says, head snapping up. 

“Well, if you say so,” his mum says, grabbing his face.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, shaking her off because this is getting embarrassing. “You don't think... You don't think it's wrong, do you?”

“No, I don't think it's wrong,” his mum says. “It's a beautiful thing. But I hope... I can only hope you two are on the same page.”

“Yes,” Merlin says, brow creasing. “Arthur likes to take the mickey out of people and act like he's too cool for school and can't possibly be your friend. But he is... If you were there when we hang out, you'd know he's my friend. I mean I don't only think it. He is.”

His mother sighs. “Yes, I wasn't... I'm sure you know best.”

“I do,” Merlin says, trying to pour all the passion he has for the subject into the delivery. He finds it's quite a lot. It's a bit of a whirlwind of feeling that leaves him adrift in a way he doesn't quite understand. He catches his breath. “I do.”

“All right,” his mother says, her eyes gentling and Merlin has a notion she's taken pity of him. “I just want you to promise that no matter what you feel, you won't rush into doing something as thoughtless as what you did today.”

Merlin can't promise that, not if Arthur's the one doing the asking. But he can reassure his mother. “I promise I'll always think before doing stuff.”

His mum huffs and stands. “Now try to sleep, Merlin. God knows you need it after the upset you had.”

She exits the room, closing the door softly.

 

*****

 

Merlin hasn't even had time to blink sleep off, so he barely understands what Morgana's saying. “Uh?”

“I asked,” Morgana says, “if you slept on the sofa, but I don't think you need bother answering after all. The question is why?”

Not wanting to involve his friends and reveal fairly 'personal' details about them, Merlin settles for saying, “Er, we just fell asleep on the sofa.” He picks up the discarded remote. “Watching telly.”

“You call that watching telly, do you?”

Arthur wakes with a snort, grabs the dish that was about to slide off his chest, then clocks onto the new arrivals. “Morgana, Lancelot. What are you doing here! Why are you here together?”

Morgana scoffs. “I suppose you do know Merlin invited me over.” She hugs Lancelot by the waist. “I met him on the train over.”

“Oh,” Arthur says, mouth sliding softly open.

“You two need a shower,” Morgana says, turning her nose up. “So maybe you'll wake up.”

“I'll help you with the luggage first,” Merlin says, placing the dirty crepe dish on the side table.

“And brekkie,” Arthur says, voice slurred by sleep, eyes rimmed with red, hair standing on end.

As he passes, Merlin ruffles his hair and Arthur makes a series of stifled protest noises. Merlin grabs Morgana's suitcase, a huge soft trolley that's twice as large as Merlin and a flower pattern carpet bag. Lancelot, coming in with a bulging rucksack swears he can manage his luggage all by himself.

“Are you sure?” Merlin asks, lifting both trolley and bag. “We can ask Sleeping Beauty over there.”

Arthur splutters.

“If that is his only defence Arthur needs his morning coffee really badly,” Morgana says. Then calling after him. “You ought to provide.”

From midway up the stairs, Merlin says, “Sorry, can't hear you, Morgana!”

“You're just as bad as each other,” she shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

The fact that both he and Arthur are useless without some amount of stimulants in their systems is not lost on Merlin however. So when he gets back down, he steals directly into the kitchen, where he finds a tired-looking Elyan staring into a coffee cup. “Oh,” Merlin says, coming to a halt. “I thought you were still asleep. I hope we didn't wake you just now.”

“No,” Elyan says, drinking the dregs of his coffee. “I hope Sefa and I didn't keep you up last night.”

“No, no you didn't, don't sweat it,” Merlin says, turning around to fiddle with the electric kettle. “Swear.”

“Merlin,” Elyan says in a slightly reproachful tone, “on my way down I saw you sleeping on the sofa.”

Merlin pivots so he's facing Elyan again. He braces against the worktop, drumming his fingers on it. “Elyan, it's alright.” Merlin's ears feel warm at the tips. “Really.”

“Well, I am sorry,” he says. “The problem is...”

Merlin kicks at the cupboard behind him. “What?”

“Sefa is great.”

“Believe me, I got the idea,” Merlin says, holding a hand up only to end up scratching the side of his forehead.

“No, it's just,” Elyan says. “That she's so enthusiastic. And I want to make her happy.”

“Are you trying to apologise?” Merlin asks, making an incredulous sound.

“No,” Elyan says, adding something else Merlin can't catch because the kettle makes a lot of noise.

“Pardon,” Merlin lines up mugs and dunks a tea bag into the first one. “I didn't hear you. The... you know.”

“I said, I don't think I can keep up with her.” Elyan upends his coffee cup as though he can get it to yield more that way and drinks from it. “I mean I love her. And I love her drive. It means she's into, you know. That's great. It's flattering. But seven times. I-- I can't perform like that. Can you?”

Merlin's about to shape an answer that won't go into too much detail, when Morgana, Lancelot and Arthur trail into the kitchen. Even if Elyan hadn't mimed a no at him, Merlin would have known not to speak about the subject with the others. 

Arthur makes a beeline for him and says, “Is that my coffee? Have you made me my coffee?”

“Not, yet,” Merlin says. “That's the cup. Insta's in the cupboard. Also, thank you for assuming I'm your body slave.”

Arthur gives him a little glare that's unfocused by sleep, grabs the empty mug Merlin set out and starts ladling instant into it. As he does, he keeps muttering that instant coffee isn't real coffee.

“I could make something,” offers Lancelot. “To relieve Merlin of his hosting duties.”

“No, I'm fine,” Merlin says, “some people are just too fixated on their morning coffee.”

“Please, I can whip something up,” Lancelot says, then swinging round to Morgana he adds, “You want cappuccino, right?”

“Right,” Morgana says with a bright smile.

Lancelot rolls up his sleeves. “I'll set to work then.”

“It's not as if we have anything much,” Merlin says, sure they're probably thinking him the worst host ever. “I meant to make a run for the supermarket.”

“No need, Merlin,” Lancelot says, taking possession of the range as Morgana and Arthur seat themselves around the table. “I can make a little go a long way.”

“Obviously,” Merlin says, because of course... Lance could.

By the time Merlin's drinking his tea, Gwen and Leon have come down. They're arm in arm and still in their night wear. Leon says, “I feel like the laziest sod of all. Here I was thinking I was being bright and early when you're already all here!”

“Lancelot,” Gwen says, her voice rising. “And Morgana!”

“Yes, I thought you knew?” Lancelot says as he tries handling the last of the eggs. 

“We were on the same train,” Morgana says from the table. “Imagine. Last I heard from Lancelot he was somewhere in Asia being ever so useful. Then I take the train from London and who should I meet?”

“Lucky coincidence,” says Gwen with a small smile and a glance from under her lashes. “But I'm so glad you're here.” She flicks a warm look at Lancelot. “Both of you.”

“I'm pleased too,” Lancelot says. “To be here with you... and all the others.”

“Yes,” Gwen says, “we'll all get to talk.”

Leon starts buttering a biscuit. 

Gwen grabs Morgana's hand and squeezes. “You should tell me everything about that acting job in New York.”

“Well,” Morgana says, “I auditioned and I got it!” She runs a hand down the grain of the table. “I'm quite surprised actually.”

“Nonsense,” Gwen says, “you're going to be a splendid actress.”

Morgana looks up, tossing her hair to the other side. “I'm determined to be marvellous. But it's still a first time for me.”

“I can't imagine a photoshoot is all that different,” says Gwen, letting go of Morgana's hand and leaning against her chair. “Aren't you playing a part in those too, a role?”

“In a way, yes,” Morgana agrees. “And I've had to learn lines for TV ads before.”

“I still remember the slogan from that shampoo ad of yours,” says Leon, munching on his biscuits.

“Don't remind me,” says Arthur groaning. He sounds much more alive now that he's had his coffee and given it a minute or two to act. “Every uni chum of mine asked me about that bloody commercial.”

“More like,” Leon says, “they wanted a date with your sister.”

“Eh,” Arthur says, going to paw the kettle. “I'd rather not even consider that.”

“Arthur can't accept that I have a sexuality,” Morgana says, putting her hands on her hips.

“I can.” Arthur fiddles frantically with the kettle. “I'd just rather not be reminded of it in connection with people I knew were complete and utter horn dogs.”

“You really need to loosen up, Arthur,” Morgana says, accepting a tea cup from Lancelot, whom she graces with a smile. “And come to terms with me being a grown up who likes sex.”

Lancelot coughs over the eggs he's dishing, while Arthur says, “Please, spare me this kind of talk this early in the morning.”

Sefa comes into the kitchen and interrupts Morgana's reply with the words, “Oh you're all down here. Is breakfast on?”

Merlin shoots to his feet. “I'll take that as my cue to go to the supermarket.”

 

***** 

2002

 

Merlin is lying on his back on the grass, the sun shining on his body and enveloping him in its easy warmth, music washing in his ears in the shape of the notes from The Scientist. If he squints, he can see the bulk of the school building, grey wash all around, a crowd of students milling about, rucksacks hoisted onto their shoulders, textbooks underarm. Gwen and Lance are sitting on the low wall back in far distance, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Merlin can't make it out but he suspects they're holding hands. 

Lancelot's probably whispering sweet nothings, too. Merlin thinks he's decidedly the type to do that. Somehow he has the courage to voice all his feelings, inclusive of his mushiest ones, and not feel like an idiot. Merlin would never be able to. He'd probably get terribly tongue tied and make a fool of himself.

Then again Lancelot has more things going for him than just an ability to murmur sweet nothings. He's handsome and cool and a good bloke, too. Merlin would never compare.

The song is winding to a close when someone snatches his earphones. “Oi,” Merlin says, turning round. 

Arthur throws his school bag down and sprawls next to him, his head on it. “Hi.”

“I was listening...”

“To your rubbish depressing music,” Arthur finishes for him. 

Arthur's eyes are so round and full of mirth, Merlin can't really chew him out, so he settles for muttering about how Arthur's tastes are plain shite.

Arthur says, “I spoke to my dad.”

Merlin turns off his CD player. “And?”

“I should perhaps say we had several discussions over the past week,” Arthur says.

Merlin nods slowly. “I'm glad he opened up.”

“Me, too,” Arthur says, exhaling carefully. “We watched one of her shorts together. From start to finish. Merlin, he was crying by the end.”

Merlin can't really picture Uther Pendragon crying. He's always so stiff and severe. But he guesses he's been wrong all along and he doesn't really know the man. “It must have been... He loved her.”

“Yes, that's what he said,” Arthur says. “And in a way I felt bad for forcing him to, you know.”

“Arthur,” Merlin sits up, places a hand on his chest. “She was your mum. There was nothing wrong about... about trying to get to know her.”

Arthur covers Merlin's palm with his hand, holding it flat on his chest. Merlin can feel it when he breathes, when his chest rises and his stomach hollows. “I know. I don't feel guilty. But I feel... sorry for him.”

“Arthur, he lost the one person he loved,” Merlin says. “I can't even imagine... But you're his son and he loves you too.”

“I know.” Arthur swallows, nods. “I know that now.” He pauses, looks at the clouds steaming past in the sky. 

“So everything's fine now?” Merlin asks after a beat. The truth is he wants for nothing better than for Arthur to be okay, for him to have everything he wants. He understands how knowing about his mum is integral to that. He understands in a way that's completely visceral. “You're okay with him?”

“Are you asking if I'm about to be grounded forever and ever?”

Merlin rolls back into his former position, lying down on the grass. He slips his arm under his head. “No, I think I'm asking if it's going to be all right between you and your dad.”

“I think so,” Arthur says after some thoughtful humming. “I think so.” He turns his head to look at Merlin. “How about your mum?”

“She was cross with me for a bit,” Merlin says, not reporting the whole of the discussion to Arthur, especially the bit questioning their friendship, which he still doesn't understand. “But she isn't angry anymore, I think.”

“I'm glad,” Arthur says, his mouth almost curling in a smile. “The relationship you have with your mum... I can see it's quite special. I... I wouldn't want to do anything to ruin it.”

“You didn't,” Merlin says, and he's the one who's smiling now. “I don't think anyone can.”

Arthur bobs his head. “You know, I like to think that if my mum were still, you know, I would have a similar relationship to her.” 

“I'm sure you would have,” Merlin says. “Your mum seemed like a fine lady.”

“Did I say her film was great?” Arthur says, rolling onto his side in a burst of enthusiasm. “It was all about these people living parallel lives and never meeting. And you're asking yourself why and then you find out. And it's because they're kind of living on different planes. It was all so very clever...”

“Wow,” Merlin says, noticing how Arthur's eyes brighten when he mentions his mum's film. “Tell me more.”

“Well, it's subtle,” Arthur says, “it's the way it's edited and the key scenes are pieced together. It's... you just need to see it to get it.”

“I'd love to,” Merlin says, and though he's never been particularly interested in cinema and cinema making, he means it. “I would truly do.”

“Then you're invited over,” Arthur says, making it final. “I asked dad if I could have my mum's reels and he said that he'd get them.”

“In that case I'll bring pop-corn,” Merlin says, mouth twitching.

For no reason that Merlin can detect, Arthur's face clenches. “If you think it's boring, of course, you could just say no.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, making a grab for Arthur's wrist the moment it seems he's about to take off. “I'd be really, really happy to see your mum's stuff alright?”

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks, making a thorough study of Merlin's face.

“Yes,” Merlin says, reaching a hand out for Arthur to shake. “Most definitely.”

Arthur grabs his hand, says, “It's a date, then.”

 

*****

 

As the last notes of the song die, Lancelot puts down the guitar and looks around, as if he's waiting for a negative reaction.

Merlin claps loudly, says, “Most beautiful rendition of _Stand By Me ever_ , Lance.”

Lancelot looks down and smiles. “Thank you, Merlin, you're a friend.”

“Lancelot is always too humble,” Morgana says, taking a sip of her wine. “Learn to accept praise, Lance.”

Gwen rubs her dress down. “Indeed, Lance, that was a soulful rendition of a beautiful song.”

“Thank you, Gwen,” Lancelot says. 

“You're welcome.” Gwen grins, breathes out. “I've missed your voice.”

Leon rises and walks over to the bar. He pours himself a whisky. 

Lancelot says. “I-- I'm sorry I haven't been more present. Even if it's only with a phone call. But I thought... You're getting married and that perhaps it wasn't right for me to... barge in on your happiness.”

“Lancelot,” says Gwen. “You know you wouldn't have.” She toys with one of her curls. “We're still friends. Even if we decided... Even if we couldn't be together.”

“The charity means a lot to me and to other people, Gwen,” Lancelot says, casting his eyes down. “I couldn't put myself before it.”

“I understand,” says Gwen.

“You do?”

“Yes, so I...” She looks to the others as if for help find the words. “I want you to always keep in touch.”

“I will,” says Lancelot. “I promise I will.”

“Well, that's very touching,” says Leon, sitting down on the carpet close to Gwen. “But then Gwen is special, don't you all agree?”

“Yes,” Lancelot says. “That she is.”

Sefa and Elyan stumble into the lunge, hand in hand. Elyan's shirt sitting askew, and half melted snow flakes are still sitting on his head. Sefa's cheeks are as red as apples and her hair has escaped the bun she did it up in. “Well, hello,” Sefa says.

“We went out for a walk!” Elyan says, tugging on Sefa's hand to lead her forward.

“That's what they call it now, is it?” says Morgana.

“Morgana!” Arthur says, making big, outraged eyes at his sister.

“What,” Morgana says, widening her own eyes on purpose. “They come back all dishevelled, it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to guess what they were at.”

“Either way perhaps a bit of discretion wouldn't go amiss,” Arthur says.

“I only pointed out the obvious.” Morgana hoists her glass at Elyan and Sefa. “And they're a couple. There's nothing to hide.”

Elyan steps into the fray. “It's all right. Morgana was just yanking our chain.”

Arthur dips his head. “Have it your way. I was trying to teach my sis manners, but I see that's an impossible task.”

“Oh, Arthur, stop being so patronising,” Morgana says. She takes a measured sip of her wine. 

Arthur's head whips round. “I'm not patronising, Merlin, am I?”

Morgana clears her throat against her fist. “Merlin would be the wrong person to ask. He thinks you've hung the moon and stars.”

“He believes that of you too,” Arthur says.

“But in my case he's right.”

Before Merlin can call for a time out, Sefa and Elyan have seated themselves around the fire, each of them cradling a glass of wine. “So,” Sefa says rabbiting into a comfortable position, “Morgana, tell us how you became a model.”

“Oh, it was luck mostly,” Morgana says.

“Morgana is being far too humble,” says Lancelot.

“Which is not exactly typical,” Arthur says, narrowing his eyes at his sister.

“Fie, Arthur.” Morgana nudges at him with her foot. “I'm always nice.”

“That is debat--”

Because he doesn't particularly want a sibling squabble on his hands, Merlin pinches Arthur. 

“Why do you think that?” Sefa asks, leaning forwards, her hands cupping her wine glass.

“I was working at our local music shop – Merlin knows the place - and a guy from London noticed me. At first I thought it was utterly bogus, especially as I'm not really model tall. But it turned out it wasn't. He was the real thing, a scout.”

“That must have been such an exciting time for you.”

“Yeah," says Morgana. She smiles.

“Morgana got offered a part in a mini-series,” Lancelot says, nodding at Morgana. “She's branching out.”

“How do you know?” Arthur asks Lancelot. “About the mini-series. I only knew it was an acting gig.”

“Train together,” Lancelot and Morgana say at the same time.

“I knew,” Merlin offers.

“Merlin was the very first person to know,” Morgana says, a little red in the face as she toasts him.

“I'm your brother,” Arthur says, looking at the others for support. “Shouldn't I have been the first one to know?”

“No.” Morgana sticks her tongue out at him. “Merlin's always going to be my first choice.”

“Well, that's stupid,” Arthur says, veritably pouting. “I'm family.”

“So you're telling me Merlin's not the one you confide in first,” Morgana asks, twisting her mouth into a smirk. “He's not the only person you ever talk about things – as in real things -- to?”

“That's different,” Arthur says, lips pursed, brow furrowed.

“Tell me how,” Morgana says, prodding Arthur with her foot. “How is my relationship to Merlin different from yours?”

“I--”

“So you do agree it's different,” Morgana says, cocking her head, her eyebrow pointing upwards in a severe arc. “Because that's what I've been trying to get you to--”

Lancelot places a hand on Morgana's shoulder. “Morgana.”

Morgana turns her head towards Lancelot, mimes the word, “What?”

“You know what,” Lancelot says, massaging Morgana's shoulder. “I think we talked about it.”

Morgana sighs. “You're right, I suppose.”

Though she has let go, Merlin can sense how tense Arthur is. It's in the iron line of his shoulder, the cast of his face, in the hollows in his cheeks from the teeth grinding he's doing.

He wants to bring the smile back to Arthur's face. To crack a joke and see Arthur soften. 

He wants to touch him and infuse some manner of comfort into him, but realises now's not the moment. Not what Arthur would want. “Who's into singing a carol?” Merlin says, moving over to the piano and lifting the lid. “Lance, how about some accompaniment?”

 

**** 

2002

 

The credits roll and Arthur turns off the telly. 

“Wow,” Merlin says, looking to Arthur sitting next to him. “Your mum was good.”

“I told you,” Arthur says, smiling wide. 

“Yes, well, I had no idea how good.”

“You know,” Arthur says, ducking his head, toying with the remote, “when Father brought the reels, I hesitated.”

Merlin breathes out. “Why?”

“I was afraid,” Arthur says, “that... Oh, it makes no sense.”

“I know most of what you think doesn't make sense,” Merlin says, nudging Arthur's shoulder, “but I'm sure this does.”

“It's just,” Arthur says, pursing his mouth, looking away, then back down. “It's just that I was afraid I wouldn't like them. Or that I only would because they are my mum's.”

“And,” Merlin says, cocking his head so he can gaze at Arthur's profile. “Did that happen?”

“No.” Arthur smiles. “No, it didn't happen. I loved her ideas and the way she executed them. It was a silly fear.”

“It wasn't silly,” Merlin says, worrying his lower lip with his tooth. “It wasn't silly at all. I get it.”

“There's something else.” Arthur puts the remote down on the floor and turns towards Merlin.

“Go on,” Merlin says, though for some reason his heart beats faster. Maybe Arthur's tone has caused that reaction or Merlin's just being overly sentimental. “What is it?”

“I know it's early to talk about it,” Arthur says. “Morgana said it isn't...”

“Arthur, you're hedging.”

“I want to study film production in uni.” Arthur huffs. “I know it's two years away but... I think I've made my decision.”

“Arthur, that's great!” Merlin says, cracking a smile. 

“Yes,” Arthur locks eyes with Merlin. “Father said I should think about it. I guess he'd prefer it if I did Business like him. But he's not against it.”

“You should really do what you like, Arthur,” Merlin says, considering the situation from all angles. “Not what you think your dad would like.”

“I know,” says Arthur. “I'd really like to do film.”

“Good,” Merlin says. “Good.”

Arthur jiggles his knee. “I was wondering...”

“What?” Merlin asks, placing a hand on Arthur's knee, stilling it.

“Would you like to come too?” Arthur says. “To the same uni I go.”

Merlin breathes hard. “Arthur...”

“I'm sure they're going to have a variety of programs,” Arthur says, the words stumbling quickly out of his mouth as he reddens. “You could do whatever you like...”

“Arthur.” Merlin blushes to the roots of his hair because he feels that what he's planning to say is the most solemn thing ever. “Even if we go separate ways, we'll always stay in touch. We'll always see each other. Even if I have to walk to wherever you are.”

Arthur brightens, his eyes all colour and his smile splitting his face. “Deal, you sentimental pillock,” Arthur says, presenting his palm. 

“Deal,” Merlin says, grabbing Arthur's hand even as his heart balloons in his chest.

 

**** 

 

It must have snowed overnight because the front drive has gone white all over. Mounds of snow pile in patches here and there. Thinner crusts cover the short yellow grass, veil the front steps and pepper the wreath hanging from the door, drowning out the red and gold trimmings.

Arthur comes down the steps and joins him. “Up early?” 

Merlin breathes in the sharp air, light with frost. He lifts his face, so the pinprick of it bites at his skin, at his cheekbones, at the tips of his ears. “It's Christmas Eve, Arthur.”

“You sound as excited as a little kid,” Arthur says, stomping hands and feet. 

“I like the atmosphere,” Merlin says, shrugging. “That's all. I want to... remember it as it is.”

Arthur gives him a prolonged look, then shakes his head. “You're strange, Merlin.”

“Maybe,” Merlin says, itching to speak up, but knowing now's not the time. He wants Arthur to have brilliant memories of this Christmas festivities. “Maybe not.”

“Nope, you're weird.”

Merlin breathes out, and the exhale takes shape in a cloud of steam. “Want to walk to your old place?” He shrugs at the house. “The others are still sleeping.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, looking ahead as though he's readying for a quest. “Why not?”

By silent agreement they don't take the bikes, but walk all the way. Since Arthur has the keys, they don't need to use the back entrance. The lawn is carpeted in undiluted white, a few flowers and grass stems pushing through the frost. As they climb up, it starts snowing. At first it's just a light shower glittering like spun sugar. But soon fat white flakes fall over their heads and shoulders. 

Arthur's nose has gone red and Merlin's feels like it's no better off. They should probably walk back since hanging out in the snow is none too wise an idea, but Merlin doesn't want to. So he says, “Remember the year we had the snowman contest?.”

Arthur's eyes spark. “And we covered the lawn with snowmen?”

“Yes!” Merlin says, taking off his gloves and stuffing them in his pocket. “Then Morgana joined in and she made an ice ballerina and it definitely looked better than all our specimens.”

“Well, it was artsier,” Arthur says, “but my snow Robocop was great.”

“As was my Gandalf,” Merlin says, kneeling down so he can scissor his arms in the snow. “Definitely the winner.”

“Winner, my arse,” Arthur says, hunkering down. “Let's see who wins this time.”

It's not as if they have had such a massive snowfall they can build a huge snowman. But they do manage to erect two scrawny ones. Merlin's has a head that comes in the shape of an ovoid, and rather thin arms. Arthur's is much squatter and shorter and gets a branch for a nose.

“Yours looks like an alien,” Arthur says, turning his nose up at Merlin's snowman. 

“And yours looks like a troll.”

“Well, unlike your overextended construction over there,” Arthur drawls, “mine isn't going to crumble at the first gust of wind. It's simple engineering.”

“Engineering, my arse,” Merlin says, shoving Arthur.

Arthur shoves back and Merlin topples backwards and into the snow. “I'll have you for this,” he says, fitting snow into his palm and shaping it into a ball he lobs at Arthur.

The missile hits Arthur square in the chest. Arthur blows air through his mouth, impersonates a fish, yells, “Prepare to pay for that,” and throws another missile at Merlin.

The handful of snow hits Merlin's square in the face, taking his breath, icicles dripping down his neck and under his clothes. “Aaaaargh,” Merlin yells, both because he's trying to negotiate the shock and because Arthur's got another one coming. With a push he's on his feet, chasing Arthur around the property hurling snow balls at him.

Merlin's not the best shot ever, but he does manage to land a volley or two, snow spray dusting Arthur's jacket. Arthur, however, is canny and ducks into the thicket. Merlin searches for him, craning his neck left and right, but the bastard must have found some prime hiding place because Merlin can't see him. “Oh, hiding then,” Merlin says. 

Something grabs him by the waist and careens into him, driving Merlin into the ground. Hands press his shoulders down, legs bracket his, a weight in his lap. 

By the time he's got his breath back, Arthur is shoving snow into his face, and worse, under his collar. Ice laps at his skin, pebbles it, and Merlin yelps at a ridiculously high pitch.

Arthur's bracing over Merlin, arms taut. He's gone slant eyed with glee, and there's a smirk painted on his lips, high colour on his cheeks.

The breath goes out of Merlin, leaving him gasping. He feels like his flesh has been stripped from his bones, as though all that he is is there for Arthur to see. He swallows. 

Arthur's throat works too. He moves, Merlin thinks he's shifted imperceptibly closer. He can't establish whether that's true or not because the garden door creaks and someone says, “I was late doing the garden.”

Arthur moves off Merlin and is on his feet in a blink. “Mr Simmons! I thought you only came Tuesdays.”

“Well, I should have,” Mr Simmons says, shifting from foot to foot. “But I didn't come this week, and so I thought I'd do some hedge pruning this morning before visiting my daughter.”

“You shouldn't,” Arthur says, brushing himself off while Merlin picks himself up. “It's Christmas Eve.”

“It's my job, Mr Pendragon,” Mr Simmons says, doffing an imaginary hat.

“Well, if I can't persuade you otherwise,” Arthur says. “I'll wish you a Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you, Mr Pendragon and Happy Holidays,” Mr Simmons says, before disappearing into the shed. 

Arthur and Merlin walk back home. It's stopped snowing, but the temperature has dropped and the sky closed in, heavy clouds low on the horizon. The snow they threw at each other has melted completely, drenching their clothes. 

Midway over Merlin gets the shivers but for some stupid reason he can't stop laughing. Arthur hooks an arm around his shoulders and pulls him to him. Given that Merlin had no prior warning he goes stumbling and nearly knocks Arthur off his feet.

“Clumsy,” Arthur says when he recovers his balance. 

“A little warning goes a long way.”

“So I have to warn you every time I make a grab for you?”

“Yes, you must ask formal leave.”

“I'll write my request on parchment next time.”

By the time they come upon the house, Merlin can't feel his fingers anymore and his toes are no better off. Given that Arthur is moving as stiffly as C3PO, Merlin has reason to believe that he too is freezing. He's about to suggest the first thing they do upon getting inside is light a fire, when they run into Gwen, standing in the drive.

“Oh, there you two are,” she says, eyeing them from under raised eyebrows. She blinks when she takes them in. “Why are you so wet?”

Merlin and Arthur look at each other and burst out laughing.

“No reason,” Arthur says.

“None at all.” Merlin grins. 

Gwen rattles out a sigh. “Boys. Well, the delivery lad came round, there are two big turkeys on the kitchen table waiting for you to magic them into dinner.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, mouth sliding open. “I totally forgot.”

“I suppose I'd better roast it myself then?” Gwen asks.

“No, I'll take over,” Merlin says, turning back towards the house.

When they make it to the hall, they see Lancelot and Morgana on the first floor landing. They're leaning close together; his head is a little bent while hers is tipped up. She laughs, low and warm-hearted. He touches her arm. It could be all very platonic, but there's something about the way they interact, that Merlin interprets as being very, very intimate. 

Gwen must have thought the same, because she says, “Oh.”

 

**** 

2002

 

“So would you be okay doing the science project together?” Lancelot asks as he filters out of the class.

Merlin hoists his rucksack on his shoulders and falls behind him. “Yeah,” he says, quite happy with the arrangement. “Yeah, that'd be great.”

“Lovely,” says Lancelot. He spots Arthur at the same moment Merlin does. “Um, I meant to go pick Gwen up. She's finishing history and I promised we'd go into town after.”

“Just go and have your romantic get together,” Merlin says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I'm sure she's dying to see you.”

Lancelot traces a finger down his jaw line, looks to Arthur and then back to Merlin. “Right, I'd better go. See you Friday!”

As Lancelot skids off, Merlin raises his hand, walks over to Arthur. “Didn't you have basketball?”

“Yeah, shoulder hurts though,” Arthur says, rotating his arm. “I'm out for two weeks.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, wincing on Arthur's behalf. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yeah.” Arthur smiles. “I'm fine. Just not ready for practice.”

“Oh,” Merlin says. “Okay, so want to hang out?”

They spill onto the street as Arthur says, “Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” Merlin says, worrying his lips. “Go on then.”

“Not here,” Arthur says.

Though it's rained and the roads are thickly coated with mud, they go out to the lake. They can't sit down and they can't strike out across the high grass. Merlin's mum would never forgive him if he destroyed his school uniform and Merlin's fairly certain Uther wouldn't be any happier to find his home covered in sludge tracks. 

All in all Merlin's left wondering why Arthur wanted to come out here on a day like this but when he pushes and prods, Arthur's mostly silent. He sits on the bole of a chopped tree, his hands deep in his pockets because the wind's fit to flay skin today. Merlin's own cheekbones are being sandpapered in the chill air. “There was something you wanted to say?”

“I've been thinking.”

“Really?” Merlin whistles. “Quite a feat!”

“Shut your mush,” Arthur says, “you're stealing my lines!”

“You're stalling.” Merlin gives Arthur a pointed look. Maybe that'll get him talking and stop worrying Merlin. Not to mention the climate conditions aren't favourable to hearts to hearts. “And you know that.”

“I've been thinking about what I asked you to do.”

Oh, no, not again. “Arthur, I told you, I was happy to go with you.”

“Yes, yes you were,” Arthur says, pinning his gaze on Merlin, eyes shining with something Merlin fears is self-reproach because Arthur's looking vulnerable right now and that can only mean he's blaming himself. “And I'm grateful, honest. You're the only one who... And I've never given anything back, have I?”

Okay, Merlin wasn't right. “That's not what friendship is about. Expecting something in return. That's not what we are about.”

“I didn't mean it like that,” Arthur says, grabbing him by the arm and letting go when he realises he's been a bit over the top with that one. “What I mean is, I was thinking that I've never helped you getting what you want.”

“Arthur you're making no sense,” Merlin says, because that's just not true. 

“You miss your dad the way I miss my mum,” Arthur says, staring down. “I know how that feels. But the difference is there's a chance your dad is actually alive. I want to help you find out.”

Merlin is speechless. His heart stalls then starts again, giving him painful jabs that set his blood running faster. “Arthur,” Merlin says, “I... Thank you, but no.”

Arthur's shoulders sag and he tears off the bole. “You don't trust me, do you?”

“No!” Merlin says. “It's not that!”

“I told you about my mum,” Arthur says, facing the lake.

“Arthur, there are so many reasons why I don't want to,” Merlin says, his body suddenly heavy with the weight of all of them. “Honest.”

“I don't get it!” Arthur swings round, then the fight goes out of him. “I don't really get it.”

“I'd rather not find out,” Merlin says. “Because if I do, I'll have the answer. And that answer might be that he's dead.”

“What if he isn't?” Arthur says so low Merlin barely hears him.

“Considered that too,” Merlin says, kicking the trunk of the tree. “I suppose that would mean he doesn't want to acknowledge me.” He inhales. Every time the purport of that hurts him a little bit more. Maybe that's because he's stopped making excuses for the man. “If he's alive, then he's made his choice. And I'm choosing to make the same one.”

Arthur crosses back to him, puts a hand on his forearm, high up and short of the shoulder. “I get it now. I do. And if he's out there and doesn't want to get to know you, then he doesn't know what he's missing out on.”

Merlin swallows. His tongue feels thick and his throat does too. “Thanks.”

“No thank you, Merlin,” Arthur says, tipping his chin up. “Learn how to take a compliment.”

Merlin grins, the thickness in his throat slowly dissolving. “It was just the shock of hearing one.”

Arthur claps him heftily on the shoulder, nearly throwing Merlin off balance. “Ha, ha,” Arthur says. He drops his hand, shuffles from foot to foot. “Let's get you back or your mum will have my hide.”

 

**** 

 

Gwen puts her hand over her mouth, then drops it immediately.

Lancelot and Morgana spring apart. “It's not the way you think!” Morgana says.

“It's fine really,” Gwen says, her voice stumbling over the word 'fine'. “I'm not... I'm surely not entitled to know.”

“What the hell's going on?” Arthur asks. 

Merlin elbows Arthur in the ribs, gestures for Arthur to cut it.

Arthur looks at him with dawning realisation and his eyes go wide.

“Gwen, I wouldn't have said anything,” Morgana begins.

“Really, Morgana,” Gwen stops her, “I understand perfectly and there's nothing wrong with it.”

Morgana descends the rest of the steps, and takes Gwen's hand. “It was just a one night stand. I'm still going to New York and he's still going to Asia.”

“Morgana,” says Gwen, as Merlin tries to inconspicuously tug Arthur into the kitchen. “You're adults, free agents. It's really not my place to...”

Merlin has nearly managed to lug Arthur into the other room, when Morgana says, “I know that. But I need you to know we never meant to hurt you.”

Gwen's response is drowned when Merlin opens the tap.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, mouth open. “My sister and Lancelot...”

“Yeah,” says Merlin, raising an eyebrow. “I don't think we should meddle.”

“Well, they were being obvious!” Arthur says, grabbing the head of lettuce Merlin lobs at him with both hands. “I'm concerned.”

“She's an adult,” Merlin points out, silencing the voice in his brain that tells him Morgana has picked the person coming with the most complications. But then again, he supposes, you don't choose who you love. He looks at Arthur. He's turning the lettuce round and round. Probably has little idea what to do with it. “She can look after herself.”

“What about Gwen though?” Arthur says, throwing the lettuce back at Merlin, who barely catches it.

“I think she's an adult too,” Merlin says, placing the recovered head of lettuce under the tap. “And they're friends. It will all smooth itself out. Somehow.”

“You sound so sure,” Arthur says.

“You do sound concerned!” Merlin says, grinning. “It's quite touching all this brotherly devotion.”

“Shut up,” Arthur says, turning the lettuce under the jet, shredding random leaves from it. “Let's try and cook or we'll have no Christmas Dinner. We ought to have something, even if everybody's more concerned with their sex lives.”

With the help of Sefa and Elyan, who come down to avoid the discussion going on in the drawing room, they manage to get the two Turkeys in the oven and to start on the preparation of a few side dishes. When he gets in doubt about something, Merlin phones Freya. After an exchange of very loud well wishes, Merlin obtains instructions on how to prepare a few simple recipes. 

“Is the door to the living room still closed?” Elyan asks, peeking out.

Merlin does too. He bites on his lips but gives himself a shake. He wasn't lying to Arthur when he said he was sure his friends would sort it out. It's just that he can't help but hope that none of them gets too hurt. “Yes, I think they have things to discuss.”

Elyan presses his lips together and Merlin's sure he overheard enough to understand what Merlin means. “Hopefully. Breaking up over the holidays would be sad.”

Merlin blinks then says, “I hope you would only do that after giving the matter a lot of thought.”

“Yeah,” Elyan says, watching Sefa unwrap the Christmas Pudding. “Yeah.”

“Well, let's start on the mince pies.” 

As he and Elyan discuss the finer points of the instructions, Leon pokes his head in. “Uh, Merlin,” he says, holding up his phone. “My mobile's dead for some reason. And I meant to email a few colleagues, you know happy holidays blah blah blah, and I was wondering if I could use your laptop?”

“If my old battered PC is all right with you,” Merlin says, taking down a bowl, “you can use that, but it will take some time to boot.”

“That's fine,” Leon says, smiling. “Thank you, Merlin.”

Over the next few hours they manage to finish the preparations. Not all the food looks like it's come out of a Nigella Lawson special, but Merlin's quite happy with the final result and grateful for the help he got. They transport the food into the living room, and lay the table.

“So is everything all right?” Merlin asks Morgana. 

She smiles, steals the dried cherry from on top the pudding and eats it. “Yes, Merlin, whenever isn't it?”

“I don't know,” Merlin says, looking to Lancelot who's sheepishly avoiding everyone's eyes, but especially Arthur's, back to Morgana. “You don't always have to... You know. Present a strong front.”

“Strong people can't help it, Merlin,” she says, and Merlin would worry, if she wasn't smiling confidently. “It's an innate virtue.”

Merlin nods then both he and Morgana join the table. Since the others are already seated they take their place too. As soon as he's down Merlin springs back up. “I just wanted to say...”

“Merlin, are you giving us a speech?” Arthur asks, rolling his eyes.

Merlin sends him a silencing glare and continues. “I just wanted to say,” Merlin says, belatedly grabbing a glass and hoisting it, “that I'm so grateful to have you all here. It makes my heart glad and my holidays that little bit more special.”

Morgana claps. “Hear, hear!” she toasts him.

“Aw, that's so sweet, Merlin,” Gwen says, clapping her hands together.

Arthur says, “Merlin's gone mushy.”

The others congratulate Merlin and they all toast each other. 

A sense of slight headiness overwhelms Merlin. He knows he's not drunk. It's just that he feels warm on the inside. He wants to cling to the sensation. Wants to bask in it. He understands how fragile these things are, so he lets his smile stretch and his eyes embrace his guests. 

Then he clears his throat, ear reddening, and sits back down.

They all tuck in. At first they don't talk much. The kind of conversation that does make it is comments about the quality of the food. By and by the talk gets more general again and they all contribute to it. Probably to avoid the elephant in the room, i.e., the love quadrangle, Sefa starts questioning Morgana about things to do in New York. 

Morgan seems to love the subject so she regales them with a list of the places she means to visit when she's on her own time. She brightens up even more when she says, “You ought to come. You're all invited. It's on me.”

“I'll be in Cambodia by then,” Lancelot says, drumming his fingers on the edge of his dish. “But thank you.”

“Well, that's minus two then,” Leon says, putting a piece of bread in his mouth.

“What you aren't going too?” Elyan asks.

“No,” Leon says, swallowing, gaze sliding around the table. “I'm going. I was talking about Merlin.”

“Merlin?” Arthur says, whipping round in his seat. 

Of course. Leon browsed his mail... Shit. Merlin sets out to explain, though he doesn't know how to, when Leon talks right over him in a conversational tone. “Merlin is moving to New Zealand.”

“Moving to New Zealand,” Arthur repeats, his mouth barely articulating the words. He laughs. “It must be a mistake.” He turns to Merlin wearing a wan and straight face. “Tell him it's a mistake, Merlin!”

Merlin's mouth sags. “It's not a mistake.”

“Not a mistake,” Arthur says, dry, balling his napkin. “You're moving to New Zealand and it's not a mistake.”

Merlin has all eyes on him. “Er, no, my father turned up and he offered me a job.”

Arthur stares straight ahead. His face works, muscles twitching, lines forming. “When are you going?” he says, so dry Merlin's afraid he'll get cut on that voice. “When, Merlin?”

“Mid January,” Merlin says, wanting to chase that tone from Arthur's voice, needing him to smile at him, but knowing full well his words won't do anything to achieve that. 

“Mid--” Arthur stands, lobs the napkin at the table and stalks away.

“Arthur!” Merlin yells after him, twisting in his chair. “Arthur, don't be such an idiot!” He kicks at his chair's leg. “Why is he being like that!”

Morgana tells him. “Oh, Merlin, I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?” Merlin says, his heart sliding in his chest, a free fall. “Knew what, Morgana?”

Morgana arches an eyebrow, but the steely effect is mitigated by her softening gaze. “Arthur has always been in love with you, you numpty.”

Merlin tears out of the room, ears pounding, blood draining from his head.

 

**** 

2002

 

Ealdor station has only two platforms, one for down and the other for up trains. Most routes only link to Cardiff. The train is idling on the tracks, people spilling out, the conductor taking a stroll down the length of the conveyance.

Merlin says, “So going off to uni, eh?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, putting his suitcase down. He's leaving with a rucksack and one small Samsonite, the bottle green kind, Frantic style. Merlin wants to make a joke about it but he can't because his throat is as tight as steel bands. 

“Yeah.” Arthur smirks. “I know you're going to miss me something wicked.”

“I'm not going to miss you at all,” Merlin says, locking his jaw and looking up, letting his eyes do the talking. “Not one whit.” He pushes his heels against the ground, hard. “Look after yourself, all right? And try not to get too big a head training to do films.”

Arthur knuckles Merlin's head, causing his hair to rise in a nest, then he claps him on the shoulder and turns around. He steps on the train, then hops back down, grabs Merlin by the neck and pulls him into a hug. “I'll be back.”

Merlin's heard all this before; he knows that Arthur means to come every term break. They have made plans to get together, though Merlin's not sure they'll take place. Uni changes you and you make new friends. It wouldn't be odd if Arthur forgot about them. But he smiles all the same. “I suppose you'll bore me to tears with tales of your exploits.”

“My tales will be brilliant,” Arthur says, breathing Merlin in before stepping away. “You'll see.”

This time when he boards the train he doesn't get back down. He gets the window seat. As the trains slides out of the station he makes silly faces at Merlin. 

Merlin raises a hand, but his face falls even if he wants to smile. He wants Arthur to see him beaming, to know how proud Merlin is of him for trying to make his dreams come true. But his heart cracks at the seams and he's not able to. 

 

By the time the train's gone, Merlin's eyes are wetter than they ought to be.

 

***** 

 

When Merlin throws open his bedroom's door, Arthur is shoving balled up shirts into his bag.

“What the hell was that?” Merlin asks, facial muscles straining he's frowning so hard. “Just tell me what that was!”

“Nothing.” Arthur turns, walks to the wardrobe, grabs a second pile of clothing. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Oh, come off it!” Merlin says, swallowing hard. “You're packing up.”

Arthur twists the mound of clothes he has in his hands, then lobs it at the bed and whips round. “I'm going, all right!”

“But why!” Merlin asks. His voice is low with anger, but his eyes are tearing up and the anger itself is just a feeble thing he's fanning because he can't not. If he stops he'll have to consider Morgana's words. They can't be true, can they? “Why? I don't get it!”

Arthur grunts, lowers his head, then rethinks it and tips it back, jaw locked so that it looks entirely punchable. “You lied to me.”

“I never did!” Merlin says, voice climbing.

“All right then,” Arthur says, face clenched. “You lied by omission.”

“I meant to tell you!” Merlin says, flailing his arms about. “The day you first came. At the pub. But then I thought... Why put a dampener on our reunion. I'll tell them all in January.”

“Dampener.” Arthur snorts, eyes vacant, the compression of his mouth putting hollows at his cheeks. 

“Arthur!”

Arthur shoves a few more items into his bag and zips it up viciously. “No!” he says. “No, you don't get to do that.”

“Do what, Arthur?” Merlin stops Arthur from tearing out of the room with a hand on his arm. 

“I'm waiting for some sort of excuse.”

Merlin lets go of Arthur. “You know, I was thinking of apologising. But I don't see why I should.” 

Arthur scoffs. 

Merlin says, “True, I didn't tell you as soon as I decided, and I should have, but I don't see what difference it could have made!”

“No difference, right,” Arthur says, pushing past him.

“Arthur, I need to go!” Merlin says, desperate for Arthur to see, to understand the position life's put him in, even though he doesn't want to spell it out.

Arthur drops his bag by the door. “Okay, let's play this game. Why?”

“Because I'm completely broke, Arthur!” Merlin says, shame burning his face. “I can't afford to keep this house anymore.”

Arthur gasps for breath and his eyes go wide. “I could've helped.”

“It would not have been fair,” Merlin says, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead and looking away. “I didn't want to beg.”

“I don't care about the money,” Arthur says, shaking his head as if that's obvious and Merlin's silly for not understanding. 

“Yes, well, but I do,” Merlin says, chest caving as he inhales sharply. “That's a good job my dad's offering me.”

“I thought you didn't want anything to do with him.”

“I was a teenager when I said that,” Merlin says, shaking his head. “So all right meeting him isn't going to be the same as if it had happened when I was a kid, but he wants to get to know me and he's offering me a chance. And I need it.”

“So you're okay with getting help from your absentee father but not from me.” Arthur bobs his head, jaws sticking together.

“Arthur, it's a good, honest job,” Merlin says, repeating something he's told himself time and time again. “I mean I know next to nothing about vineyards, but it has plenty of flesh air.”

“Fresh air.” Arthur stares at him with pain and disappointment written in his eyes and Merlin just wants to stop it because he's used to something else from Arthur, a softer look that's always made Merlin feel... loved.

“Arthur, I can't stand you hating me for it,” Merlin says, raking both hands through his hair, shoulders going down. He wants to be proud. He wishes he could be above needing Arthur. But he's not really. He's always had him as a friend and the thought of having lost him because of a stupid mistake makes him cold, leaves him floundering.

“I don't hate you,” Arthur says in a very low voice.

“Then why are you being like this?” Merlin says, gesticulating at Arthur's pose, the tautness of his face and body. “You're not angry with Morgana for getting a job in New York!”

Arthur nearly roars. “I don't need Morgana!” He looks away. 

“Arthur,” Merlin says, taking one single faltering steps towards him, Morgana's words ringing into his ears. “Arthur, what are you saying?”

“Does it even matter?” Arthur says, dragging the words out as if saying them tires him.

“Yes,” Merlin says, his heart bumps and cracks along the seams. “Yes, it matters.” 

Arthur's shoulders go down as if he's lost the fight. He sighs, eyes misty. “I care about you.” He shakes his head, thrusts his jaw out, rolls his shoulders back. “No, no, that's not right.”

Merlin feels as if the ground has been swept away from his feet and he can't stand. He's drowning in his own thoughts, in his own thudding heartbeat. He hadn't realised it would be like this, that losing Arthur would do this to him. He's always thought... “I always thought that whatever happened, I'd never lose you, but...”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Arthur says, walking to him. “I never said that we weren't...”

“You said...”

“That I don't just care for you,” Arthur says. “I love you.”

Merlin smudges a hand across his mouth. His thoughts stop. His heart blazes with emotions Merlin can't control. He grips Arthur's arms to steady himself, blurts out. “You, you... love me.”

Arthur's nostrils flare, his lips quiver. His gaze slides onto Merlin then back down. “Yes, you've always been... The only one I really thought of with... with that kind of love. I know I shouldn't have said it, but--”

Merlin surges forward, grabs Arthur's face in his hands and touches his lips to Arthur's. Arthur makes a husky sound deep in his throat, wraps a hand around him like his life depends on it, and opens his mouth. The helplessness of it pierces Merlin to the quick, riddles holes in his soul, works him nearly to tears. 

Merlin slips a hand in Arthur's hair and tilts his head back, deepening the kiss. Arthur groans, pulls him to him so there's no space left between them. It's perfect and a little bit mad and everything that Merlin's ever wanted. Because this is Arthur and Merlin's heart has always been his. 

Arthur untucks Merlin's shirt, slips his hands under it, roams them across the notches of his spine. Merlin feels himself melt, wants Arthur never to stop touching him. 

He sobs, slows the kiss, licking along Arthur's upper lip, brushing his lips softly with his, teasing the edges, his mouth moving slowly over Arthur's until he's whispering against it, “I hope this clears matters up a little,” he says, and his smiles a bit, though he's choking with feeling. 

“Is that some kind of declaration?” Arthur asks, chest rising quickly, his words couched in a would-be drawl that becomes much less casual because he's panting. “Because in that case I'll have to tell Morgana she's got it all wrong and that's not me who's emotionally constipated.”

Merlin snorts, shakes his head, nods his head. He doesn't quite know what to do. He's a little afraid of leaking love from every pore but Arthur needs to know. “I'm really fond of you.”

“Fond enough to kiss me?” Arthur asks, tilting his head just so that Merlin has to push his lips against his in a shower of small presses.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, afraid the silly smile he's wearing will stay in place forever and ever.

“Fond enough to have sex with me?” Arthur asks, flicking the buttons of his own shirt till it's hanging open, showing a hint of pectorals, a dusting of light chest hair, and his flexing muscles.

The words stop in Merlin's throat when he first tries to say it, but then he manages to say, “Yes.” 

Arthur cups his face, kisses him slow and tender. “Fond enough for you to stay?”

“Arthur,” Merlin says with a sigh. “I still can't keep this place. The maintenance alone...”

“We'll find a solution,” Arthur says, kissing the side of his face, trailing his lips down Merlin's jaw to his neck. “Unless you just want to go?”

Merlin breathes hard through his nostrils. “I don't want to go, I love it here. This place is home in a way that's written in my body.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, thumbing his cheek.

"I love the village streets and the bleeding lake, and the house, the house my mum was so proud of. But I don't know what to do to keep it!”

“We'll find a way,” Arthur says, fitting his mouth to his. “There must be options.”

Merlin doesn't really want to think about how broke he is right now, or how he's failed at almost everything he lent his hand to. He wants to grab all the happiness he can with both hands, treasure the moment, and forget about his less than bright prospects. “No more talk,” he says, walking Arthur to the bed.

“Merlin--”

He silences Arthur with a kiss, presses him on the mattress, following him down, bracing himself on hands and knees. 

Arthur's hands slide up Merlin's back, warm and firm. He rucks up Merlin's jumper and takes it off. He unbuttons his shirt, palming Merlin's sides and chest as he strains up to kiss him. He catches him under the chin first, raising a huff that's really half a moan, then his lips centre on his mouth and it's hot and wet and more perfect than any kiss should ever be. 

It softens Merlin in places, warms him, makes him ache with a softness that has got nothing to do with pain and everything to do with longing.

Merlin's the one who deepens it. When he can no longer breathe and his heart kicks in his chest, he pushes his head into Arthur's neck. He breathes hard when Arthur slips his hands between them and kneads his cock through his trousers. 

He puffs out a startled, “Arthur.”

Arthur rubs and presses, palms him. 

Need takes Merlin's breath and his heart hostage. His hips shoot forwards and he's grinding against Arthur. It's like he's helpless, like this ball of love that he's had bottled inside for years and years is making him act out of a desperate instinct he can't suppress. 

With his mouth, Arthur skims Merlin's neck, fiddles with Merlin's zipper until he's lowered it and Merlin's cock is growing in his palm. Merlin pushes into it in short jabs, finds Arthur's mouth again, rubs their lips together, and dips his tongue in. And though the angle is decidedly awkward, Merlin clings to the kiss, mouth poised open over Arthur's, who licks into his mouth and drives him crazy.

Arthur bucks up against him, and Merlin bears down. 

“Wait, wait,” Arthur says. “Trousers.”

Merlin stops moving, blushes. “Sorry." He snorts a laugh. Moves off Arthur and to the side. "You'd think I'd have got the mechanics of this down at my age."

"You've always been rather slow on the uptake," Arthur says, unhooking the buttons of his jeans the moment Merlin's off him. With a pull he shucks them off, together with his shoes. 

"Shut up or I won't put out," Merlin says, making a big production of folding his arms.

"Well, in that case," Arthur says and presses his lips together, pushing his boxers down his legs and discarding them. He arches an eyebrow but adds nothing else.

Merlin flushes, looks down, works his underwear past his knees and off, before climbing back on top of Arthur, kissing him, until Arthur's tipping his head back into it, and the kiss gets warm and wet and a punch to the heart. 

Arthur makes a low noise in his throat. His lips are hot with friction, his tongue slick, sliding under Merlin's and along his palate in wonderful strokes. 

Arthur's hands span the whole of Merlin's body, warm, broad. They mould themselves to the shape of him as they move up his back, down his arms, as they settle at his hip. Merlin loses his breath over it. Love crowds his lungs, floods his heart, fuels a series of nonsense words he hopes Arthur won't pay too much attention to. 

And perhaps he isn't because he's busy scattering kisses over Merlin's throat, intent on sucking his earlobe into his mouth, very taken with brushing his mouth across Merlin's temple. His legs fall open and then Merlin's not thinking, not properly. When it sinks in, he asks, “Arthur?”

Arthur noses his face. “Come on, Merlin, do you need a written invitation to fuck me?”

“No?” Merlin says a little hysterically, he asks, his belly tightening with anticipation. He laughs, shakes his head, flushes. “No.”

“I've got,” Arthur says, licking his lips as though it's their cracking that is making it difficult for him to speak, “I've got lube and condoms in my bag.”

“I'm not asking why,” Merlin says, as he pushes off Arthur. The air is cold and plasters itself to his body now that he's no longer warmed. “Should I suspect you of having designs on Mr Kealey?”

“Hew, you're killing off my libido,” Arthur says, scrunching his nose up and pushing off of his elbows.

“It takes so little, does it?” Merlin says, rooting inside Arthur's canvas bag.

He finds the supplies, hurries back to the bed, cock liberally swinging, so that he feels like a bit of a twit. He stumbles at the foot of it, lands on top of Arthur with an oomph.

“Sorry,” he says, depositing lube and condoms on the duvet next to Arthur's head.

“What for?” Arthur asks breathlessly.

“Squashing you,” Merlin says, burying his head in Arthur's neck and breathing out the words against his skin. He waits for his face to stop flaming. 

“I like being squashed,” Arthur says, and if he's trying for humour it's a bit lost in the breathless delivery.

It doesn't matter because Merlin's a little bit overwhelmed too. He feels his heart on his tongue but it's clogging his throat too. It beats fast in his chest, and sends the blood churning through him. He's thrumming all over, leaking emotion from every pore.

Arthur wrap his arms around him, letting his hands course down Merlin's back and arse. 

When Arthur tightens his legs around him and starts moving against him, little grunts fall from his lips.

Merlin's got to do something or he's sure he'll disintegrate from the punch of it all.

He drops kisses on Arthur's jaw and chest, mouths down his torso and belly. He sucks at the junction between his hip and thigh, raising shivers in Arthur. He noses at the softer flesh at the inside of his thigh. Arthur's muscles cord under his mouth. 

“Merlin,” Arthur says, in a deep voice that comes deep from his belly.

“Turn around,” Merlin says, goose flesh rising over his body when he considered what he's said, how he's said it.

He expects Arthur to notice, take the mickey but he doesn't. His knuckles go white, his belly caves in, but then he moves, buries his head in his arms.

Merlin places a hand at the small of his back, kisses the indent there.

Arthur sucks in a breath and his body comes off the mattress.

“I haven't done anything yet,” Merlin says, his heart swelling when he realises that Arthur's on edge too. 

“Well, then get on with it,” Arthur says, head down, mostly talking to the covers.

Merlin nuzzles the curve of Arthur's arse, snorts when Arthur yelps. Merlin spreads his legs wide. Hands curled tight around Arthur's hips, he starts running his mouth down the tightening muscles to Arthur's hole.

Arthur releases a stifled groan.

He mouths the soft flesh, seals his lips around the raised ridge of Arthur's hole. Arthur's body goes taut and he shouts, grabs the headboard. “Shh,” Merlin says, colour staining his face. “The others are still downstairs eating Christmas dinner.”

“Pardon me,” Arthur pants out, “for not... for not sounding measured when you're...” He makes a noise deep in his throat. “Eating me out.”

“What a terrible pun.” Merlin gives out a little laugh then goes back to work, licks at Arthur's hole, drenches it with his spit, noses at it, nips at it, before he laves at it with the flat of his tongue, pushing inside, going deep, and then deeper.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, or rather huffs, before levering his body off the mattress and bucking into Merlin.

Merlin kisses and suckles, fucks Arthur with his tongue, until his chin is wet with his own saliva and Arthur's reduced to a fine tremble, wriggling his lower body, moving it up and down and sideways in snaps that make it clear he's at the end of his tether. 

Considering their past, if there's one thing Merlin's never let himself imagine it's this. Arthur wanting him, Arthur needing him, with the breath stolen out of him because Merlin's touching him. He's never let himself go there because knowing it wasn't real would have broken him and ended their friendship. But now it's real and Merlin nearly can't believe it. 

“Merlin! I need more!”

“All right, all right,” Merlin says, pushing a spit-slick finger inside Arthur.

Arthur tenses.

“Is this working?” Merlin asks, pressing his thumb around the rim, putting pressure behind Arthur's balls. He stops, squeezes down on his thigh. “Didn't you want to--?”

“Yes,” says Arthur, looking up but not turning his head to look at Merlin. “Just do it!”

Merlin opens Arthur with his fingers, licking around them and at skin that feels soft and delicate, fluttering and yielding.

When Arthur huffs into his arms, Merlin opens the lube, smears it down his fingers. The moment he believes Arthur ready, he fumbles for the condom.

Before he can get it out, Arthur vaults around, bracketing Merlin with his legs. He places a hand at his nape and a hand at his waist and says, “Like this.”

Merlin nods. It's not as if he has the power to say anything at this point. The words have dried up in his mouth. His heart is beating rather too fast, and he can't really concentrate on anything other than taking the next step, to make it happen. He wants to make it good for Arthur, so he really can't speak up much.

Arthur grins at him, looking both red-faced and a little smug, especially when Merlin fumbles with the foil packet and drops the condom. Arthur tuts, picks it up himself, slides it on Merlin. At contact with Arthur's warm fingers, Merlin hisses, closes his eyes. 

Arthur cups his cheek, skims his face with his lips, says, “Come on, Merlin,” and lies back down on the bed.

Merlin starts slow, nudging the head of his cock into Arthur, concentrating on anything but the pressure, the tightness, how bloody, mystifyingly good and perfect this is. 

He edges on. Arthur wraps his legs around Merlin, jolts him forward. Merlin sucks in a breath. Arthur gentles him with a hand on his flank, rocks against him and Merlin's in to the hilt. He bats his lashes in surprise, sucks in a breath. The fit is snug, heaven. Merlin roams his lips across Arthur's collarbone, skims his lips at the hollow of his throat. 

When he can't anymore, when he needs to release all the energy that has gathered inside him, he bunches his shoulders and presses in before sliding nearly out. Arthur bites his lips. Merlin slides nearly all the way out before homing in again.

“I...” Merlin says, trying to remember English, which isn't a feat that comes easy at this point. “I don't think I can...” _Last long_ he wants to add. But he flushes hot from head to foot and his belly liquefies and he doesn't think he can say that. 

“Doesn't matter,” Arthur says, slipping a hand through his hair, combing it back, kissing his throat as he sits up. “I want you to.” He traces a line of kisses that goes up to Merlin's ear. “I want you to lose it. I want to be the one who makes you lose it.”

At that Merlin's hips slot forward sharp and sudden. Arthur groans, digging his fingers in, pulling Merlin to him by the small of his back as he lies back down. Merlin's rhythm gets shot. He speeds up. 

His back arching, Arthur lifts off the bed. Though he's thrashing his head and can't see what he's doing he wraps his hand around his cock. It's red and swollen, leaking fluid at the tip. He grits his teeth and calls out an approximation of Merlin's name. 

At sight of that, Merlin loses control; he swivels his hips into the last thrust.

Arthur bites back a sob, bunches the duvet up in his fist, and comes.

Merlin likes him like this, mouth parted and eyes slitted. It's not exactly hot, because there's something about the way he scrunches his face up that's not exactly it. But it makes warmth bloom in Merlin, a sense of overwhelming fondness for all that is Arthur. That's him, his friend, his friend who rolls his eyes at him when Merlin yanks his chain, the one who's grown up by his side, who knows him through and through. And it's that that melts him.

He manages two more uneven strokes and then he comes with a strangled moan on his lips. 

He lands on Arthur, belly to belly, sweat and come gluing them together. And they're a mess, a complete and utter mess. Arthur's flushed like a pepper and his hair's standing on end and Merlin's fairly sure he doesn't look any better. 

But his heart is soaring. It feels like nothing could be better and then midnight chimes and it does get a little bit more so. He grins like a lunatic. “You must admit, this is a little bit romantic.”

Arthur swats him with a pillow, but then grabs him by the head and kisses his face. 

Merlin's eyes go small with mirth and he can't see. They laugh. Wrestle on the bed, hit each other with the pillows, all of them. They roll and kick off the duvet which both of them refuse to pick back up. “We'll freeze,” Merlin says, his legs tangled with Arthur.

“Body heat,” Arthur says, running his hands down Merlin's body.

“Is it going to be enough?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, fitting his lips to Merlin. “Yes,”

“Shouldn't we go down to the others?” Merlin says, burring with laughter. “You know and finish Christmas dinner? We left them hanging...”

“No,” Arthur says, his hands moving down Merlin's body with more purpose. “I want to stay here.” He loses the smile, some of his mirth. “I've never had you all for me before. There's a lot I...” He drops his eyes, slows the rhythm of his caresses. “A lot I have to catch up on.”

They spend the night doing exactly that.

 

*****

2002

_Dear Merlin,_

_Uni is grand. Some of the courses are boring, the theoretical ones mostly, but the hands on ones are brilliant. I think this is what I want to do. That I had the right idea. It's not just about my mother. It's about crafting something, spreading your own message. I don't think I'm building myself up too much if I think I have something to say._

_Father is still a little sceptical. But Morgana likes the idea. Then again she likes the idea of putting things on film. She accepted that modelling gig after all, but then again you know that because she's always talking to you, which means she'll have brought you up to speed._

_So let me do the same. I swear I won't be all about me, me, me._

_I'm sharing a room with a bloke called Leon. He has a beard and wears shaggy Cardigans. He tapes study schedules to the wall and wants his tea to have steeped for exactly four minutes before he drinks it. The man has his quirks, but I suspect he's alright. He likes sports, and does Nordic walking. It's hiking but with a stick, you know. It's a little bit old mannish as far as hobbies go, but I didn't tell him._

_See, I can be gracious even when you're not around. I do not miss you and your chatter at all. Not in the least._

_I'm coming to visit over the Christmas Break. I'll probably try and persuade Leon to come too. See you then._

_Arthur._

_PS: Would you check in on my father from time to time? I probably shouldn't ask but sometimes I think he must be lonely without us._

_PPS: Skating on the lake will be on as soon as I'm back in town. I will race you and I will win._

 

***** 

 

When Merlin wakes Arthur is snugly snoring. He's managed to steal all of the duvet and to push Merlin onto the edge of the mattress. Merlin elbows him, but Arthur only rolls over, blankets going with him.

“Right.”

Since the room is flooded in pale light, Merlin supposes he can cede the field to Arthur and go downstairs. A spot of breakfast wouldn't go amiss either considering that he skipped a big part of dinner to...

He smiles. “Doesn't mean I forgive you the bed hogging,” he mutters, before picking his clothes up very quickly. Hopping from foot to foot, he dresses. Finally, chilled to the bone because of the naked parade, he makes it past the door. 

He means to make a beeline for the bathroom, when he runs into Morgana.

“You didn't come back yesterday night,” she says, squaring her jaw. “We finished dinner without you.”

“I, erm,” he says, dancing from foot to foot. “Arthur had a lot to discuss.”

“In his bedroom?” Morgana crosses her arms.

Merlin looks down, scratches the patch of skin above his ear. “Yes?”

Morgana presses her lips together. “You know noise carries well in this house, don't you?”

As he tries to recollect what kind of noises he made and what he said or rather shouted, Merlin gets a little hot about the face. “Oops. It slipped my mind.”

“I should probably go all big sister on you and warn you off,” Morgana says, tapping her fingers on her forearm before unfurling a smile at him, “but I think you're the best thing that's happened to him in a long time.”

“Really?” Merlin asks, tipping his head up.

“Yes, really,” Morgana says, squeezing his arm. “It makes me glad.”

Merlin feels his smile stretch his lips too wide. “It really matters to me. Because you're my friend.”

“Are you really going?” she asks then, a cloud passing over her face. “Are you really moving to New Zealand?”

Merlin looks back to the door of Arthur's bedroom. “I don't know yet. But we'll talk about it and sort it all out.”

“I'm sure you will.”

Merlin tips his head do the side. “How about you and Lancelot? I mean are you sure you don't want it to be a thing? I understand why you would back down, but Gwen's made her choice. She's marrying Leon and I don't think she'd want you to be unhappy--”

“Merlin!” Morgana says. “Just breathe.”

Merlin takes a lungful, and Morgana is right, he does feel conspicuously less light-headed. “I just hope you're not being self-sacrificial?”

“Whenever have you known me to be?” Morgana says, tutting a little.

Merlin concedes with a shrug. 

“Really, Merlin,” Morgana says, seeking his eyes, “we're not all of us made for steady relationships. Lancelot is hot and a good guy. We had sex. On a train--”

“I kinda didn't want to know you had high-speed sex--”

“It's a variation on the mile high club theme.” Morgana flashes him a predatory smile. “And the lavatory stank. So it wasn't all that romantic, even if Lancelot himself is a gentleman. Still, it's not going to go further. He's going to Cambodia to fulfil his humanitarian dreams while I'm going to New York to embrace acting and be shallow.”

“You're not shallow,” Merlin says. Morgana's so self-assured but sometimes he does wonder whether she knows she's a great girl.

“Thank you, Merlin.” She bobs her head in acknowledgement. “Anyway we're not all lobsters.”

“Is that a telly reference?” Merlin snorts. “No, we're probably not.”

Merlin wants to say more, but Arthur pokes his head out of the room. His hair is up in tufts and his eyes are red. There's a pout in place on his lips and Merlin's heart clenches ever so tight he doesn't mind it when Arthur says, “You weren't there!”

“I had to shower!”

“You're making conversation with my sister!” Arthur says, rounding his eyes. They now appear even more bloodshot. “You woke me.”

“Well, I'm going now.”

Morgana scoffs, pushes off her toes to kiss Merlin's cheek. “When you're ready, come downstairs. We didn't open our presents yesterday because you two were MIA.”

“See,” Merlin says, lips twitching. “She can make us feel very guilty!”

“Go shower, Merlin!” brother and sister shout at him.

The Christmas tree's lights are blinking on and off. Merlin's guests are all gathered round it, smiles on their faces.

“We were waiting for you!” Gwen says, when Arthur and Merlin stumble into the room. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Merlin says, rubbing his scalp. “We'd have done this yesterday but--”

“Please, do spare us,” says Leon, winking. “We know what you were up to.”

“Not that we overheard much,” Gwen says, her eyelids hooding her eyes. “Actually we heard very little. Almost nothing.”

“Personally,” says Leon, “I'm quite glad. This way I no longer have to keep my mouth shut about the two of you.”

“Uh?” Merlin says, pushing his eyebrows together.

“I mean ever since I've known you've been dancing around each other--”

“Pining for one another,” Morgana says. “In the most pitiful of ways.”

“Yes, that,” Leon continues, “and I've always wanted to, you know, point out to you that that's what you'd been doing.”

“I wanted to knock your heads together actually,” Morgana says, “but Gwen and Lancelot were against it.”

“It wasn't our place,” says Lancelot, getting a nod of acknowledgement from Gwen.

“Oh my God.” Merlin shares a panicked look with Arthur. “That's not embarrassing at all.”

“I suggest we act as though we don't know them at all,” Arthur tells him, eyeing the door. “How about doing a runner?”

“Fie.” Morgana pats the pile of presents. “So you want to pass on the gift exchange? Give up on all your beautiful presents?”

Merlin and Arthur share a look, then scuttle over to the tree, sit under it with the others.

The exchange begins. Wrapping paper gets torn and set aside. There's a lot of cooing over presents, vast amounts of ohing and ahing, kisses on the cheeks and slaps on the back. Merlin smiles as packets change hands and marvels when the gifts are revealed. 

Leon gets a new cardigan from Gwen and Gwen a pair of earrings from Leon. Elyan has concert tickets for Sefa. When he hands them over, he says, “I hope you don't mind I practically invited myself along.”

Sefa embraces him, kisses him on the lips, puts an envelope in his hands. “You get a Spa weekender, with a plus one.” She makes a funny face, waggles her eyebrows. “And I'm not at all angling for the plus one spot here.” 

If Merlin makes no mystery of approving the shenanigans between those two, he acts as though he hasn't noticed Lancelot hand Morgana a square object. It's still in the bag from W&H Smith, which means he bought it at the station, and replaces a pre-wrapped gift he has by and that he asks her to not take into account. “This is... much more personal.” 

Morgana upends the bag and a book spills out. It's a volume of poetry by Pablo Neruda. Morgana opens the first page and says, “There's a dedication.”

“Read it,” Lancelot says, leaning in to study words he must have put there himself.

“Tonight I can write the saddest lines,” Morgana reads. “I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.” 

Gwen makes a small noise in her throat. “I forgot something in my room,” she says and disappears for a while. Everyone but Leon acts as though this is par for the course and nothing to worry about, though they're most probably only trying to do what Merlin's doing, and that is make an effort to lighten up the situation. 

Arthur for all his silly Christmas chatter takes Morgana's hand and doesn't let go. Leon's face tightens and a frown settles on his brow. 

Morgana and Lancelot lower their gazes, shift apart.

Sefa says, “Let's see what Merlin got everybody!”

Merlin tries not to worry about his friends, to distract himself with the unwrapping of the gifts he bought for the others. Everyone professes to like his choices, which is a relief, though Merlin only relaxes when Gwen comes back, all smiles and with fresh make up on. 

Every one relaxes then. Morgana sits up straighter like she's not weighed down with concern anymore and Lancelot gives Gwen his present, which she slips into her pocket and promises to open later.

It's then that Merlin starts to unpack his own gifts. He gets a lot of stuff he wanted and some he can probably find a use for. But then again that's Christmas for you. In any case he thanks everyone with the biggest of smiles. 

Somehow though the moment that comes next means a lot more to him, because it's Arthur's turn to open his gift.

With hands that shake a little, he hands Arthur his present. “It's not much.” He dips his head. “It's not much but I thought you'd like it.”

Arthur rips the paper aside in one fell swoop. “It's a tee,” he says, turning it around. “Death before dishonour.” He reads the lettering plastered across the shirt. “Coffee before everything.” He makes a face at Merlin, all round eyes and mouth sticking out in a pout. “I'll have you know I'm not useless before my morning coffee,” he says. Then he finds the case hidden among the folds of his new shirt and jumps up, eyes aglow with tenderness, and hugs Merlin. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“What's that?” Sefa asks. “What did you get him?”

“An old Marlene Dietrich film they don't distribute here,” Merlin says, his shoulders up. “No big deal.”

“That's a masterpiece and a rare find. Respect Ms Dietrich, please.” Arthur squeezes him tight once more before giving Merlin his own gift. “Here,” he says, putting a box in his hands. “This is mine.”

“Oh, coming last,” Merlin says, shaking the box. “This means you're trying to make a point.”

“Just open it,” Arthur tells him, pushing the package into Merlin's lap.

Merlin arches up an eyebrow but then obeys. When the paper comes off he sees the package. The moment the lid's off, he realises what it is. “God, Arthur, you shouldn't have.”

Sefa and Morgana peek in, then share a look that's half smile, half cooing.

Arthur says, “It's not what you think it is.”

“I think it's a bloody iPad, you moron,” Merlin says, scrunching up the paper it was embellished with. “I don't even know if I should accept it. It must have cost you an arm and a leg.”

Arthur shakes his hands. “Well, no, the i-Pad is not your present.”

“I don't get it,” Merlin says, not ashamed to admit he's utterly confused. “This is an i-Pad.”

“Maybe Arthur got him a knock off,” Sefa says.

“Not the type,” says Morgana. “Arthur's somewhat snobbish when it comes to presents. Only the best.”

Arthur points at the device. “Just turn it on, will you, Merlin!”

Merlin pushes the on button and waits for the screen to light up. “What now?”

“Go to the videos folder,” Arthur says, biting his lip.

Merlin obeys. “There's a pre-loaded MP4 here.”

Arthur says, “Just play the video.”

Merlin chooses the play option. The video starts. The members of Coldplay are sitting like pigeons in a row on a long beige sofa. “Did you download some kind of interview?” Merlin asks, but then the audio comes on and Merlin's fairly sure that this is not normal footage Arthur got from somewhere. Mostly because Chris Martin waves and then says, “Hello, this is a message for Merlin.” The other band members nod. “So, hi, Merlin.” There's more waving. “I've been told that you're a great fan of ours and that you've been since we released our very first song. Well, let me that you that we're honoured to have such a devoted follower.” The other band members murmur their agreement. “So we want to wish you a special happy Christmas and invite you for a meet and greet after our next London concert. You'll find special passes in your mail. That's it from us... And keep it on, Merlin.”

“Oh, my God,” Merlin says, hyperventilating the littlest bit. “How did you get them to do this? Just how?”

Arthur brushes his fist against his jumper, blows on it. “I pestered a friend at ITV, who's got a friend, who's got a friend, who knows Chris Martin.” He beams. “So, Merlin, do you like your present?”

“I love it!” Merlin says, putting the i-Pad down, because that's not what matters now. “I don't even know how you pulled it off or why since you just hate it whenever I mention the band, but oh God, Arthur, this is the most memorable present ever.”

“I just wanted to get you something special,” Arthur says, ducking his head. “Something that you'd really love, and I knew it wouldn't be material things. Then it occurred to me that perhaps, If I persisted a bit, I could get you this.” Arthur smiles a lopsided smile at him. “And all those unreturned phone calls and shameless begging I had to do? They were worth it.” Arthur's Adam's apple takes a plunge. “Because you are. You're worth it.” 

Merlin pulls Arthur to him and presses what must be a hundred kiss to his lips. “You too Arthur. You too. You're worth all of my... sizeable affection.”

Over the blood roaring in his ears, Merlin hears catcalls and whistles. He also definitely picks out the words, “High time.”

**** 

 

From: leonfknight@hushmail.com  
To: m.emrys@mail.com, arthurpendragon1@icloud.com, morgs@gmail.com, elyansmith@aol.com, sefabrown@gmail.com, henrylamorakprivate@hotmail.com, geraintgeraint@gmail.com. tomsmith@zohomail.com, beviderekaplan@yandex.com, utherpendragon@gmail.com, percivalstrong@icloud.com, ll.d.kingfisher@gmail.com, glamourvivian@icloud.com, morgausepetrie@aimmail.com, borsbors@gmail.com, lancelotdulac@outlook.com...  
Subject: Wedding Cancelled

_Dear Friends,_

_I'm sorry to have to communicate to you that Gwen and I have called off the wedding. We'll try to reach everyone by mail or phone, but, please, do pass on the word._

_I apologise for the inconvenience,_

_Best Regards to you all,_

_Leon Knight_

 

From: gwenwhyfar@ymail.com  
To: m.emrys@mail.com, arthurpendragon1@icloud.com, morgs@gmail.com, elyansmith@aol.com, sefabrown@gmail.com, henrylamorakprivate@hotmail.com, geraintgeraint@gmail.com. tomsmith@zohomail.com, beviderkaplan@yandex.com, utherpendragon@gmail.com, percivalstrong@icloud.com, ll.d.kingfisher@gmail.com, glamourvivian@icloud.com, morgausepetrie@aimmail.com, borsbors@gmail.com, lancelotdulac@outlook.com...  
Subject: Wedding

 

_Hello everyone,_

_I fear you might all have received a rather hasty mail from Leon. You might be wondering why and be worrying for us. (Hi, dad.) Well, there's no reason to._

_Life as a couple isn't always easy. Sometimes you're in seventh heaven and sometimes you get the so-called pre-marital jitters._

_I want you all to know that Leon and I discussed the situation, had several heart to hearts, and have found that we're now back on solid ground and in a place of mutual understanding. In short we're ready to embark on a new adventure together!_

_Therefore you may consider the wedding to still be very much on. We're both looking forward to seeing all our dear friends and family gathered together on this occasion._

_In the expectation of having you all there to share in our joy,_

_Yours,_

_Gwen._

From: m.emrys@mail.com  
To: gwenwhyfar@ymail.com  
Subject: Are you alright?

_Hey, Gwen, getting a tad concerned here.  
Talk to me, please._

_M_

From: gwenwhyfar@ymail.com  
To: m.emrys@mail.com  
RE: Are you alright?

_I'm fine, Merlin, no need to worry. I won't hide that Leon and I went through a rocky patch and that part of it was my fault._

_Seeing Morgana and Lancelot together was a bit of a shock. As happy as I am when something good happens to the people I love, the notion that I'd lost Lancelot for good was really brought home to me._

_It's not as if I hadn't made the choice myself, or that I regretted it, but over Christmas I realised that that part of my life was truly over and it was a painful realisation. Perhaps I was a little selfish. I think I believed Lancelot would take some time to move on and finding that he did do so more quickly than I thought was a surprise that came with some pain. It hurts to think about how I reacted. And I hope that I didn't hurt anyone._

_Leon, of course, saw it all unfold. As I think you did. He thought, he later confessed, that I wanted out. He believed that I was rethinking my choices. I wasn't. I truly wasn't._

_I love Leon deeply. I think we make a fine pair. He's tender, considerate, and there for me, which is something I need in a relationship. I told him all that. I told him I hoped I hadn't ruined everything because I did want to marry him and be his wife._

_I made him a big declartion. And he apoligised for acting studiply, for being rash and jealous and sending that email out. (Yes, I was angry over that one.)_

_We're fine now. And we've had the talk we both needed to have._

_So you see, there's no need to worry for me. I know what I'm doing and am quite happy._

_Dying to have you as my guest at the wedding,_

_Yours,_

_Gwen_

_PS: I hear you and Artur are doing fine :p_

 

*****

 

Epilogue

 

“And cut!” the director calls out, taking his eyes off the monitor and looking at his actors.

Mordred Jones makes a victory sign. Nimueh Lake drops her umbrella and says, “Do you want me to do another?”

The director takes off his headphones and says, “No this one was good.”

Arthur claps and leans close to murmur, “I know your humongous crush on Mordred hasn't abated.”

“I have no crush on him!” Merlin protests, perhaps too much.

“But what do you think of Ms Lake?”

“I can hardly believe she's hanging around at mine,” Merlin says, relieved Arthur's not needling him about his minor actor infatuation. He'd be in the same state if Cary Grant walked in. Well, were he alive and well. “This seems like some kind of weird parallel world of something, where telly people loiter in my garden.”

“Well, she's not exactly hanging at yours for the pleasure of your company,” says Arthur, feigning stiffness. He waves at Ms Lake as she strolls to the catering van. “She's working.”

Merlin rolls his eyes skywards. “As if I didn't know that. The fact they're filming your series here is the only reason I'm staying.”

Arthur presses his lips together, gives him a hip nudge. “The only reason?”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Merlin says, “you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” says Arthur looking into the distance at the actors and crew milling around on set. As he watches, the tech guys shift cables and light equipment. “And you know what: this is going to work out. Before long you'll get tourists knocking on your door to see the filming locations. You can re-open the B&B.”

Merlin takes Arthur's hand, squeezes before letting go. “It really means a lot. That you did all this for me.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, turning a little so he can look Merlin in the eye. “I did want you here.” His gaze roams around but he wraps an arm around Merlin, pulling him close to his side, so Merlin can feel the warmth of his body. “But the truth is the people over at ITV liked the house. And that's because it's a unique place.”

“I know,” Merlin says, his mum had always said as much. “My mum loved it. She really put her heart into it. Preserved it. And now I get to keep it as it is.” He sees the dollies and cameras littering his garden. “More or less.”

“So happy ending?” Arthur asks, looking back at the house. It doesn't look like itself. Most outwards sings of modernity have been removed to make the place fit in a period drama. “What do you think?”

“I don't know,” Merlin says, mouth curling. “You wrote the story.”

Arthur barks a laugh. “You're a complete and utter--”

Arthur doesn't finish his sentence: his gaze snaps over to where the trellises delimiting the shooting have been erected. There's a man standing there, wearing a parka and carrying a knapsack. Though he only has seen a few photos of him shared over the internet, Merlin knows him immediately. “My dad,” he says, smiling though his legs feel like jelly. “He's come.”

“Go over to him.” Arthur nudges him forward.

“What if he doesn't like me and it all goes tits up?” Merlin asks, digging his feet in.

“You were ready to move to the other side of the world and live with him,” Arthur says, giving him a shove. “And now you can't summon the courage to go talk to the man?”

“This is different,” Merlin says, quaking in his boots. “This is... the real thing.”

“Yes, Merlin.” Arthur kneads his shoulder. He manhandles Merlin so he has to face his father. “This is as real as it comes. And if it doesn't work out. Well, at least you'll have tried and will know why. Don't give it up because of fear. We did that and look how long it took us...”

Merlin turns round, grabs Arthur's face, “We were a right pair of idiots.”

Arthur hums and raises his eyebrows, then he concedes. “Yes, yes we were. Let's try not to be anymore.”

Before going to meet his father, Merlin kisses Arthur, slow and deep. 

When the telly crew notices, they cheer them on. Merlin smiles against Arthur's lips.

 

The End


End file.
